


Rogue Heart

by cilliance



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Overdramatic Edward, Scriddler, a bit OOC, later though, more tags as I go along, riddlecrow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-09-27 10:19:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17160194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cilliance/pseuds/cilliance
Summary: Citizens of Gotham City considered the Rogues as either ruthless, dangerous criminals not meant to be trifled with or just a bunch of costumed freaks. They were, of course, supervillains, but they were also people with personal lives far more complex than any Gothamite would read in a newspaper. In the case of two particular rogues, an unlikely romance forms.





	1. Who Does He Think He Is?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Jon meet for the first time, but they're off to a rocky start.

It wasn’t often that all the rogues gathered in one place. Each was volatile in their own way, and putting them all in one room was never a good idea.

  
In the back room of the Iceberg Lounge, Cobblepot had arranged for a table to be set up, and there was a seat for every supervillain invitee. Edward Nygma, being well-known as he was, was given one of the positions closest to the front. Around him sat Catwoman, Two-Face, Poison Ivy, Mr. Freeze and the Penguin himself. Also present were Harley Quinn, Killer Croc, Mad Hatter, and Clayface. The two big guns that were not present were Joker and Bane.

  
Another villain at the meeting -- and one that Edward had yet to even speak to -- was the Scarecrow.

  
Edward had heard the stories: a fear-obsessed professor of psychology and renowned chemist gone rogue. He had to admit that he was intrigued and very much interested in the recently-made villain’s abilities. In particular, he was interested in the man’s fear toxin. If he’d been invited to Penguin’s meeting, that in itself showed that the new villain had great prowess.

  
Penguin had yet to discuss the reason for this meeting, but Edward had the feeling that it had something to do with several fights that had broken out in his territory. Fights were not unusual, of course, but these had been particularly gruesome and had resulted in the loss of large chunks of his territory. Penguin held the very strong suspicion that the man behind this was Sionis, and Edward was certain that this meeting was arranged to find anyone willing to take him out. Most (if not all) of the rogues had reason to hate Black Mask or simply felt indifferent to him. Either way, killing Black Mask was no skin off anyone’s nose.

  
The meeting had been quite short and had gone swimmingly, considering that no one had tried to kill each other this time. Two-Face had an ax to grind with Sionis and offered to see what he could do with the man. Several of the other rogues hadn’t said a word the whole time. Mr. Freeze wasn’t a talkative man, to begin with, and Ivy seemed in a particularly foul mood, but the other silent rogue had been the Scarecrow. He was the only rogue there that Edward had had no contact with thus far, and he kept sending glances Scarecrow’s way to see that the other rogue was only watching all the others with a very calculating gaze beneath his burlap mask.

  
After the meeting ended, several of the rogues had stayed to chat while a few seemed interested in leaving as quickly as possible. Edward had wanted to speak with Selina and Oswald, but the Scarecrow was already leaving, and Edward wanted to grab his attention before he left.

  
“Scarecrow,” Edward called out while walking idly up to the man. The Scarecrow halted and slowly turned to face Edward. He waited for Edward to continue speaking.

  
“I don’t think we’ve met.” Edward put on his best smile and extended a hand. “Edward Nygma. The Riddler.”  

  
“I know who you are.” He didn’t take Edwards offer of a handshake.

  
Edward frowned at the man’s rudeness and put his hand back down. “Ah, yes. Well, it seems my reputation precedes me. You must be the Scarecrow. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  
The other rogue tilted his head slightly, trying to gauge Edward’s motivations. “What are you trying to get at, Mr. Nygma?”

  
Edward laughed, “I’m a man known for my curiosity, Dr. Crane. When a new villain appears on the scene, I like to feel them out, is all.”

  
“I wouldn’t stick my nose where it doesn’t belong if I were you, Mr. Nygma. ‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ as they say.”

  
“‘...But satisfaction brought it back,’ as they _forget_ to say. Leave the wordplay to me, Dr. Crane.” Edward felt a little indignant at the way Scarecrow was speaking to him. Edward was still quite early in his career, as well, but as far as Edward was concerned, he was higher up on the criminal ladder than Crane, and he deserved some respect. Who does he think he is?

  
“Wordplay… quite an interesting persona to take up, Mr. Nygma. A villain that deals entirely with puzzles and riddles. A bit childish, if you ask me.” Scarecrow’s face was still infuriatingly blank.

  
Edward felt warmth flush his cheeks as he grew livid at the transparent insult. He began to defend himself when Dr. Crane interrupted him.

  
“Have a nice day, Mr. Nygma.” The Scarecrow said in an almost bored tone before turning around and leaving without another word.

  
Edward huffed in annoyance and anger and left through the opposite door without saying goodbye to any of the other rogues. Oswald would see it as rude, but Edward was in a sulking mood and felt it best to go straight home.

  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  
Over the last several days, Edward had been pondering over his first interaction with Dr. Crane. Scarecrow’s fear toxin was something incredibly intriguing to Edward, and it would work wonderfully in conjunction with one of his deathtraps. The man’s personality seemed volatile at best, and Edward had to admit that he felt… unnerved around him, but he also had to admit that if they one day were ever to join forces, they would make an incredible pair. Edward could already think of several very creative ways of dispersing Crane’s toxin that he was just itching to test out in his workshop. It really was a shame that they couldn’t get along.

  
Edward got up from his seat and made his way into his living room. He turned on the TV and turned the volume low before pulling out his laptop to work. Lately, he’d been working on some digital blueprints for his latest scheme. He opened the file which contained the floor plan of the Gotham Art Museum and began working out his plan while the TV ran in the background. There would be a gala at the museum for Gotham’s elite in less than a week, and Edward wanted to make a special appearance. He had nothing to gain from this plan, of course, but it was of intrinsic value.

  
Edward was growing bored and antsy, and this was his way of having a bit of fun.

  
Edward had mostly tuned out the TV as he’d begun to work, but looking up briefly, what he saw on the screen instantly caught his attention. There on the news was helicopter footage of ACE Chemicals, and the bottom of the screen read in bold letters, “SCARECROW ROBS CHEMICAL PLANT -- PURSUED BY BATMAN.”   _Speak of the devil, and he shall appear._ Edward thought. _Probably working on that toxin of his._

  
The voice news reporter could be heard, “Scarecrow, a villain also known as Jonathan Crane, was seen robbing the local ACE Chemicals plant earlier tonight. The criminal is infamous for his chemical compound which he himself named ‘fear toxin,’ which causes victims to hallucinate their worst fears. It can only be assumed that this theft was for the chemicals necessary to make this toxin. Luckily, the Caped Crusader was there to save the day once again. We can only hope that Scarecrow will be apprehended.”

  
The mention of Scarecrow robbing ACE Chemicals made Edward wonder just what was in his fear toxin. Edward had to admit that Dr. Crane was likely far more knowledgeable than he was in chemistry, but he also was curious if he could replicate Scarecrow’s toxin for himself. The man was known for being quite possessive of his toxin and probably wouldn’t take Edward trying to copy it very well, but he had warned Crane of his insatiable curiosity. He could probably find out the production process and which chemicals he needed. Edward frowned as he realized that Crane was perhaps far too paranoid, and kept only physical copies of his formula locked away... the Luddite.

  
Edward gave up on this line of thought and walked to his bedroom to get ready for his dinner with Selina. They often had the occasional dinner together, mostly to catch up and talk gossip, and tonight was one of those nights. He probably wouldn’t be seeing Scarecrow for a while, as he would most definitely be caught by the Bat and thrown back into Arkham. Edward felt a bit of warmth of satisfaction at the thought that Crane would be brooding in a cold cell while Edward was having a fancy dinner with the beautiful Catwoman. It was only a dinner between friends, but many would kill for a night with her, even if it was just dinner.

  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  
“Selina, my dear, how are you?” Edward smiled and extended his arms out to the woman.

  
Instead of standing to return the embrace, Selina crossed her arms and gave him a slight sneer. “You’re late, Edward.”

  
“I’m  _fashionably_ late Lina. But I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” Edward slid into his seat across from her. “How have you been, my feline friend?”

  
_"Purrfect_ , Eddie. I received a hefty sum in exchange for a recent art theft that I completed, and I have a date at the Gotham Art Gala event this week. Too bad a few of their pieces will be missing.”

  
Edward leaned back in his seat a bit and shifted uncomfortably. “It’s interesting that you mention the gala,” he coughed, “I actually planned on making an appearance myself.”

  
Selina lifted a perfect eyebrow, “What do you have up your sleeve this time, Edward? You aren’t planning to ruin my night, are you?”

  
“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Edward held up his hands defensively. “But I would recommend leaving a bit early if I were you. I’ll give you a fair warning if that cools your temper. I’ve been planning this for a while.”

  
The conversation turned more friendly after that. Selina was telling him about her new beau, Bruce Wayne, and Edward grimaced at the mention of the billionaire's name. Selina knew that he held an unjustifiable hatred towards Bruce, but getting Edward worked up over the thought of her being romantic with him always made Selina laugh. Edward and Selina both ordered their dinner and lightly chatted over a bottle of fine wine. There was one topic that was on Edward’s mind that he wanted to ask Selina about, though.

  
“Selina,” Edward started, “this might seem a bit off topic, but have you ever done any business with the Scarecrow?”

  
Selina raised her eyebrows as she took a sip of her wine. “I’ve never had reason to. He seems to have no interest in the arts. Probably couldn’t afford me, anyway. Why?”

  
“Just curious. We met for the first time at Oswald’s meeting the other day. I was quite put off by his attitude.”

  
“I was wondering why you stormed out before saying goodbye to me and Ozzie. Did he hurt your feelings, Eddie?” She asked sweetly.

 

“ _No._ However, he seems like quite a formidable foe. I was just wondering if I could find out any more about him.”

 

“I’m afraid not, Eddie. At least not from me, and likely not from anyone else. Scarecrow and I have never really talked, but he seems like the loner type.”

  
Edward sighed. He really should let the idea go. Something about Crane was nagging at him, but he couldn’t place his finger on what. The knowledge that there was something he couldn’t fully grasp irritated him. Sensing Edward’s frustration, Selina smiled and reached across the table to give his hand a friendly pat. They sat in a comfortable silence for a little while longer as they finished their dinner.

  
Edward looked at his watch and was surprised to see that a couple of hours had flown by. The restaurant began to quiet down as it grew late. It was getting close to midnight, so Edward stood to put his coat back on and helped Selina into her own coat.

  
“It was wonderful talking to you again, Selina. We must do this again soon, my treat.”

  
“I’ll be sure to take you up on that offer, Eddie. A gentleman, as always.”

  
“See you at the gala, dear.”

  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  
Edward stood on the roof of the art museum and took a moment to admire Gotham’s skyline. It was a beautiful night, and he felt confident about this latest plan. Edward could hear the sound of police sirens across town, and the struggle of an elderly woman being mugged nearby. Edward smiled to himself. _Good old Gotham,_ he thought. It was around nine at night, and the party was already in full swing. Very early that morning, he’d hired a couple of henchmen to alter the lighting systems of the museum and make a few changes to the windows and doors. He’d even had another person give the walls a bit of a paint job. Edward sent a quick text to Selina before opening the rooftop door that led into the building and stepping inside the work elevator.

  
When he got to the first floor, Edward pulled out the remote in his inside pocket and pressed the top button. He saw the lights change from bright white to green; several of the other lights turned off altogether to give the room a mysterious glow. As the lights changed, he watched as the glow-in-the-dark question marks revealed themselves on the walls. Edward heard the gasps and murmurs of the gala’s attendees. Through their confusion, many of them began to realize exactly what was going on and quickly made for the doors. Edward had wanted to wait to do this until he’d made his appearance, but he pressed the second button on his remote which caused steel doors to slide over all the windows and doors. That was when the hushed tones of the room escalated to screams and shouts.

  
Edward made his way to the small stage which had been placed there just before this event. He’d told his henchmen to leave the spotlight alone, so a bright spotlight was already shining right on him. He’d worn his best green suit for tonight, and he put on his best smile once he reached the podium. Edward huffed as he realized that no one was paying attention to him over their panic. Beneath the podium, Edward turned up the volume on the microphone as loud as it would go and climbed up on top of the podium. The microphone made an awful, high-pitched sound before he began to speak.

  
“Great party you’ve got going on! I’m _quite_ insulted at not receiving an invitation!” Edward jeered. “Unless you live under a rock or are simply to dull-witted to pay attention to anything more than yourself, you’ll know that I am Edward Nygma, The Riddler! Now make this easier on yourselves and _quiet down!_ ”

  
Edward waited until the volume of his audience was back down to a whisper. “Good! Now here’s the deal: there are approximately 450 attendees at this _exclusive_ gala tonight. The Batman has… 45 minutes to get down here and answer my riddles in order to rescue you. If he or anyone else tries to pull any tricks or if a question is answered incorrectly…” Edward pulled a second remote from his pocket, “the ceiling above your heads will collapse and crush you all. Capisce?” He could hear the sound of faint crying from some of the guests.

  
“Why can’t one of us answer your riddles?” Asked a quiet male voice in the crowd.

  
Edward huffed in annoyance. “Because that’s not the point, dumbass! It has to be Batman! You’re probably too idiotic to match my level of intellect, anyway.” Edward waved a hand dismissively.

  
“How is Batman even supposed to get in?” Questioned a woman in the back. It didn’t seem to be directed at him, but Edward was angry enough to answer it, anyway.

  
“Batman will find a way in, alright!” Edward growled with clenched fists, “Batman always finds a way.” He mumbled as an afterthought.  

  
Almost immediately after saying that, Edward heard the screeching of tires. He could also hear the sound of a helicopter from above. Suddenly, the stone wall beside the front entrance exploded inward. Some of the guests closest to the wall shielded themselves from the blast and tried to run to the other side of the room. The newly-made hole in the wall caused the roaring of the helicopter to become even louder, and Edward could see the bright searchlight try to get a view into the museum. In the light, there stood Batman and the Boy Wonder.

  
“That’s not fair, Bat!” Edward yelled in frustration, “Do you know how old this building is, Batman? You’ve just destroyed some of Gotham’s most beautiful architecture just to save a bunch of lousy socialites, you cretin!”

  
“Should’ve left us a door then, Nygma!” said Robin.

  
“First of all, no one invited you, birdbrain! And second, you could have at least found a skylight or something.” Edward griped.

  
“Let these people go, Nygma!” Batman shouted.

  
“Not until you give me what I want, Batman!” Edward lifted the hand with the detonator and threatened to press the button. Before Edward could even blink, Batman shot his grapple hook at Edward and yanked the detonator from his hands. “No!” Edward growled. This night couldn’t have gone more wrong. He’d been having such a good night up until that point, too. Despite his plans going haywire, Edward thought he could still turn this around, at least a little. He could still find a way out of this.

  
Edward pulled out his pistol and fired at Robin. He would’ve liked to shoot Batman himself, but Batman admittedly played an essential role in Edward’s life, and he probably wouldn’t have injured him, anyways. But the boy was less protected, and hopefully, Batman would prioritize saving him over capturing Edward. It seemed to be Edward’s night after all because he got a solid shot in at Robin’s shoulder. The boy was knocked backward with a cry.

  
“Robin!” Batman yelled and leaned down to check on him. While he was distracted, Edward ran as quickly as he could toward the back exit. He figured that none of the gala’s guests would be brave enough to try and stop him.

  
In the alley behind the museum, another henchman was waiting for Edward in the getaway car. The news helicopter still seemed unsuspecting of Edward’s escape, and Batman seemed to have arrived long before GCPD could get to the museum. Edward scrambled into the passenger seat and told the henchman to step on it. They sped off and once they reached a safe distance away from the crime scene, tried to blend into regular traffic. In the distance, Edward could hear the sound of police sirens and knew that an ambulance would likely be on the way, as well.

  
It was a rare treat to be able to escape from Batman, and Edward wasn’t going to try his luck. He would have to lay low for a while.

  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  
Jonathan did not own a TV.

  
Not only did he find them a distraction and unnecessary, but he really wasn’t in the mood to waste effort on trying to steal one. So the fact that he’d seen Edward on the news was an unlikely coincidence.

  
Unfortunately, he was human just like everyone else, and that meant he required basic necessities. But the idea that he’d obtain these things by morally fair means was factually incorrect. He was in the middle of the convenience store, standing above the writhing and whimpering body of the store owner. He’d locked the store’s door behind him, and put up the CLOSED sign so that he decreased his chances of being interrupted.

  
Jonathan had escaped Arkham less than a day ago. He’d only been in for a few days, but he’d been lucky enough to have been captured just before the next big breakout. When he finally got back to his hideout, he realized he’d had no food. Jonathan decided it would be less conspicuous if he didn’t wear his costume out tonight. Instead, he grabbed a couple of syringes of fear toxin and a gas bomb and tucked it in his pant pocket.

  
Jonathan stepped over the crying man and grabbed a plastic bag. He grabbed as much food as would fit in the bag. He was hoping to not have to make this trip again anytime soon; it was a little embarrassing. When he’d walked in, the store owner had been watching the small TV screen that sat next to the cash register. Jonathan hadn’t bothered to turn it off. As he made his way to walk back out the door, what he saw on the screen caught his eye.

  
The news said, “LIVE -- RIDDLER CRASHES GALA AT ART MUSEUM -- ROBIN INJURED -- RIDDLER ESCAPES” Jonathan had apparently missed most of the action, but what he did see was the Gotham Art Museum with a gaping hole in its wall and an ambulance that was either carrying off the injured Robin or another unfortunate party guest.

  
Jonathan had not thought about Edward Nygma since the night they had first met. Though walking back home to his hideout, Jonathan mused over what he saw on the news. He was, admittedly, slightly impressed that Edward was able to injure one of the heroes and get away free. Usually, once the Batman arrived on the scene, any chance of escape was slim to none.

  
Jonathan recalled his first impression being simply that Nygma was a smug asshole, and had decided to pay him no more mind after that. He just couldn’t see the two of them ever getting along, and as long as Edward left him alone, there shouldn’t be any reason for trouble between the two of them.

  
Jonathan, still being the psychologist he once was, couldn’t help but want to find out just what it was like inside the Riddler’s mind. The man was his own enigma, and Jonathan was sure that there were some underlying mental disorders and deep fears that he could coax out if he found the time to talk to him more. Edward Nygma was nearly unbearable to talk to, though. He never shut up, and the sound of his voice was... grating. Oh, well. A shame, but not a tragedy.

  
Once he reached home, Jonathan shook his head almost as if trying to physically remove the thought of the Riddler from his brain. It seemed that Edward was still a nuisance whether he was around or not. Unbeknownst to him, the thought of the Riddler was preying on his mind far less than Scarecrow was preying on Edward’s.

  
Jonathan sighed. He pulled some of his chemicals out of storage and placed them on his lab table. He sat down and opened up his notebook to the page with some of his most recent formulas. He was creating a new batch of toxin that he hoped would significantly increase a victim’s suggestibility. Not only would they be experiencing their worst fears, but Scarecrow would have even greater control and manipulation over them. Jonathan was very excited.

  
As he worked, Jonathan felt very unfocused. It seemed that the news footage he’d seen would not stop replaying in his mind. But why? He had no reason to dwell on it, he thought. Whatever the reason was, the thought seemed to persist. Perhaps his mind felt the story unresolved because he had not seen the whole news story. Unfortunately, he had no way of finding out what happened. He had no TV, no computer, and all he had was a cheap flip phone. Jonathan sighed as he finally realized that he should probably go out and get a TV. He got up from his desk, grabbed his jacket and some of his fear toxin, and made his way out the door.

  
This was a lot of trouble to get into over nothing...

  
This was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter is finally up! It took me forever just to finish this first one, but it should get easier now that the ball is finally rolling. I'm hoping to get Chapter Two up by some time next week. I'm aiming to have about 30 chapters in this fic in total. It's also been my personal goal to get in around 4,000 words per chapter. 
> 
> I have to warn you, though, it might be a bit slow the first four or five chapters, mainly because it's just Jon and Edward circling around each other because they're still a bit paranoid and distrusting of one another. 
> 
> While this is only just the beginning, any kind of feedback would be great!


	2. Haywire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two rogues can't seem to stay away from each other. Unfortunately, that only spells trouble.

Edward adjusted his cufflinks one last time and took a look in the mirror. He was dressed in full Riddler attire, complete with eye mask and cane. It had been about two months since his last big scheme, and Edward decided it was about time to complete his next plan. He was getting ready to rob Gotham City Bank.

 

Robberies such as this were quick and easy for Edward: go in, shoot up the place, use one of his hacking devices to unlock the vault with ease, take the money, and walk back out. Or at least it would be that simple if Edward didn’t feel the compulsion to make a big scene out of it. Every time Edward and his henchmen would rob the bank or do anything else like that, Edward always felt the uncontrollable urge to leave one of his riddles. Even if they were dangerously close to being caught, Edward (to the chagrin of those working with him) would refuse to leave the scene until he’d left at least a clue behind.

 

It frustrated Edward. It was true that he loved his riddles and word games, but this compulsion of his was often the first thing that led to his capture. Even if he got away with the crime before Batman could arrive, the hero would always end up tracking him down afterward due to the unmistakable calling card. He’d even tried being treated for it in his earlier days at Arkham, though he’d never admit that to anyone. He reasoned that it must be his desire to take credit for the crime -- to be recognized for his work -- not because of any underlying mental disorder, oh no.  

 

Edward made his way out the back of his apartment building to the van that was parked in the alley. Inside were seven of his henchmen -- he could only remember the name of the driver. Edward climbed into the passenger seat and ordered him to take them to Gotham City Bank. Behind him, the other six guys were brandishing their guns.

 

The van pulled up to the front of the bank and parked along the curb. It was early in the night, and the bank was still open. From his window, Edward could see only a few people inside, minus the staff. Hopefully, they could pull this off without a hitch. Who knows, maybe Batman was distracted by Catwoman or Two-Face or whoever else, and he’d leave Edward alone on this one. His party-crashing at the gala had been out of boredom, but this was simply because he needed the funds. Villains don’t get to live for free, you know. _Especially_ not the villains.

 

Hopping out of his seat, Edward waited for his crew to get themselves ready and made his way toward the front entrance of the bank. The second he stepped through the doors, he pulled out his pistol and fired several rounds into the ceiling. Edward could already feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins. He really did love his job.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“Everybody listen up! Hands where I can see them! Nobody moves, and you _might_ not get hurt,” said Edward.

 

Edward tossed the hacking device to one of his henchmen and signaled for them to make their way to the vault. As two of them went to open the vault, Edward slowly paced the room and smiled at all the eyes that were currently on him.

 

“Please, Mr. Riddler,” a man behind him begged with a shaking voice, “I have a family, a daughter.”

 

Edward loathed the jolt of sympathy he felt for the man. He turned and fired a warning shot onto the ground beside the man and saw him jump with fear. “Well, keep your mouth shut, and you very well might see them again.” Edward snapped.

 

Edward heard the clicking of the locks within the vault door and knew they’d have their prize in less than a minute. Things were going smoothly until he heard a familiar voice behind him.

 

“Mr. Nygma, what a surprise.”

 

Edward turned to face the unwelcome newcomer. “Dr. Crane! Now, what are the odds?” He smirked.

 

The Scarecrow ignored the question. “It seems we are here for the same reason, Mr. Nygma. In an effort to avoid any unnecessary trouble, I’ll cut you a deal: once you get the safe open, we split the cash, and I’ll let you go.”

 

Edward almost laughed. “Hmm. I’m going to have to pass, Dr. Crane. My men and I were here first, and I’m not simply going to _give away_ half of our earnings out of the kindness of my heart. So why don’t you go on your merry way and rob somebody else, or maybe rob this place another night, perhaps. Then, I’ll let _you_ go.”

 

“I find those terms to be… unacceptable.” Scarecrow stepped closer to him, scythe in hand. He was backed by two of his own henchmen. Before Edward could react, Scarecrow lashed out his hand and splayed his fingers toward the Riddler.

 

Edward jumped at the shock of a mist being sprayed into his face. Immediately, his eyes began to water and burn, and his hands went to grasp at his neck as he felt a choking sensation and began to cough violently. Edward dropped to the floor, and the last thing he saw that he was positive was real, was the figure of the Scarecrow looking down on him. Edward’s vision began to blur, and the image of the bank seemed to melt away as he suddenly found himself in a dark, empty room with the only light being an old bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling. The sound of the Scarecrow’s cruel laughter morphed into the sound of an angry shout. Edward felt lost and frightened, but his terror only increased when he heard the sound of a glass shattering, and angry footsteps growing louder and louder. Edward felt like a little boy again as he braced himself to face his worst nightmare. Edward let out a pathetic whimper as his dead father came into view. It should’ve been impossible, but at that moment, to Edward, it was all too real.  

 

“I saw the paper you tried to hide from me in the trash,” his father growled, “A perfect score on a quiz? As if you’d ever be smart enough to pull that off, _you dirty little cheater!_ ”

 

“No, Dad! I didn’t cheat! Believe me, please!” Edward sobbed. It didn’t sound like his voice.

 

“Lying doesn’t go unpunished in this house!” His dad snarled and grabbed roughly Edward by the hair. Edward yelped in pain. He felt hot tears running down his cheeks.

 

“Dad, please, no!” He cried.

 

Scarecrow watched as the Riddler backed himself up against the wall and curled himself into a ball on the floor. He was breathing hard and whimpering words that were too quiet for him to hear, unfortunately. Behind him, the Riddler’s henchmen gave each other a look, now confused as to what they should do. Scarecrow gave the Riddler one last look before turning to his own henchmen and ordering them to crack open the vault. As Scarecrow observed the bodies on the floor, crying and writhing in fear, he heard the large skylight above him shatter and turned to see Batman land solidly on the ground. It seemed he was without his Robin, this time.

 

At the sound of the crash, Edward gave a small scream and quickly stood up, still cowering against the wall. He held his shaking hands up out in front of him defensively. “Dad, please, I’m sorry! Don’t hurt me!” Edward was clearly still hallucinating.

 

Batman seemed conflicted as to which of the two villains he should go after first. Scarecrow was the greater threat, and it would border on cruel if he were to beat down the Riddler when he was in such a fragile state, but it was clear which of them Batman had a bigger grudge against as he tromped over to the Riddler, grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him out towards the center of the bank. Nygma made a pathetic sound in the back of his throat at the rough treatment, very likely still hallucinating whatever terrifying scene he’d created for himself.

 

“This is a hell of your own making, Nygma. You’re going to pay for your crimes.” Batman growled.

 

For a brief moment, it seemed that the Riddler had come to his senses as he remembered that he still held a gun. He was barely able to pull it out before Batman quickly knocked the pistol out of his hand, sending it sliding across the floor. Batman grabbed Edward by the wrist, bending it back until he heard a pop. Edward gave a shout as his hand fell limp. Batman grabbed further up Edward’s arm and gave it a sharp tug. Edward heard yet another pop in his shoulder, but he had no time to register the pain.

 

Batman threw Edward to the ground and Edward was simultaneously winded and seeing stars after hitting his head on the floor. He grabbed Edward by the shirt collar, lifting him higher off the ground before getting in several powerful punches to Edward’s face. Edward felt a painful crunch and warm blood running down his chin as his nose was broken. Edward was having a hard time focusing with the head trauma, blood and swelling muddying his view, but looking into Batman’s eyes, Edward was still suffering from the effects of the fear toxin as all he saw was a horrific, demonic face staring back at him. Edward was shaking uncontrollably and near tears, he was so afraid. Edward was roughly dropped back onto the ground again, and Batman gave him a swift kick to the ribs. Edward felt more than heard a sickening snap, followed by a white-hot pain spreading in his chest. It seemed that this was his retribution for what he’d done the last time they’d crossed paths, and Edward was hating every second of it. Maybe he did regret shooting Robin, then.

 

Scarecrow had found the perfect opportunity to escape as Batman was beating the Riddler to a pulp. He caught eyes with one of his henchmen and gave a slight nod towards the door. The henchman gave a nod and signaled to the rest of his guys to pack it up quickly and get the hell out of there. They were only able to grab a couple of bags of cash, but that was already plenty, and it was far better than ending up in Arkham again. While Batman was still heavily occupied with the Riddler, Scarecrow and his men were able to sneak out the back and speed off to safety. It was the small fortunes you had to be grateful for.

 

Edward was in a far worse position. He could barely think, and his whole body was in severe pain. Not to mention he was still deeply shaken over the vision of his father. Edward was currently lying limply on the ground while Batman held him partially up by his suit jacket. His mind was still under the influence of fear toxin, but the hallucinations were beginning to fade. The only part of them left was an almost swirling effect and the eerie movement of shadows in his peripheral vision. Batman was trying to say something to him, but all Edward could hear was the ringing in his ears with dulled sounds in the background.

 

As Batman was speaking, Edward’s hand imperceptibly made its way to his pocket. Through the fabric of his pants, Edward pressed the button on the remote he’d kept in his pocket. Query and Echo had taken a separate car to the bank, and his girls were waiting on the opposite side from where he’d parked. He’d told them of the plan last minute, and had also mentioned that their involvement would probably be unnecessary for a job so small. They’d insisted on coming, anyways, at least as backup. The remote he was holding was always a last resort, and Edward thanked his lucky stars that they’d been stubborn enough to come.

 

It took Query and Echo less than a minute to get inside. Each of the girls stood with a large machine gun in their hands, and both of them aimed at Batman, though he was still facing away from them as he focused on Edward. Batman had yet to notice their arrival.

 

“Hey, Bat! Hands off our boss!” Query demanded.

 

Batman dropped Edward and turned at the sudden sound. He had to leap out of the way as Query and Echo began showering the room in bullets. Edward was left abandoned on the floor of the bank as Batman went to deal with the two new arrivals. Edward groaned as he tried to turn over and lift himself up. He flopped back on the ground as pain shot up his dislocated arm, and he coughed up some of the blood that had welled in his mouth. As Batman was busy dodging bullets, two of Edward’s henchmen grabbed Edward and dragged him to the side. Carefully lifting him onto his feet, they led him out the rest of the way and laid him in the back of the van. Edward did not have the energy to speak, but he was quietly proud of his henchmen for standing their ground and staying by his side. Though, they knew they’d have been in far worse trouble if they had abandoned the Riddler and left him stranded.

 

Edward could still hear the sound of the machine guns going off inside the bank as the van began to drive off. He felt a pang of guilt as he realized that Query and Echo would likely end up back in Blackgate for this while he got away free, but Edward didn’t have much time to dwell on it as he finally fell unconscious.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Edward awoke with a wicked migraine and a dull ache that spread throughout his body. He groaned as he tried to sit up, and closed his eyes as a flash of white pain shot through his head at the sudden movement. Blinking his eyes rapidly, he tried to situate himself as he fought to remember how he’d ended up here. Edward looked around the room and realized that he was lying on the couch of his own apartment. Looking down, he also saw that someone had changed him out of his suit and into a t-shirt and sweatpants.

 

Edward winced as he attempted to sit up more. He had a hard time remembering what had happened to him, and he had no idea what day it even was, but he’d clearly been severely injured. Edward tried to make an assessment of the damage: his arm was still in an incredible amount of pain, and lifting his shirt, he had an ugly set of bruises that covered nearly a whole half of his torso. Edward’s face felt stiff; someone had bandaged it up and tried to pack his broken nose with gauze. Touching his upper lip, Edward looked at his fingers to see that the blood had been cleaned away, too.

 

Edward heard a shuffling coming from his kitchen, and look up to see Selina walk into the living room.

 

“Eddie, you’re awake,” Selina said quietly and moved to sit on the arm of the couch by Edward.

 

Edward made a soft, pained noise. “Oh, God… Selina, what happened?” He rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead to try and ease the pounding headache.

 

“Two of those guys you paid for the robbery brought you up here. They were completely clueless about what to do, so they sat you here and watched you to make sure you didn’t die, or something. Luckily, I had decided to pay you an impromptu visit, and I took over from there. I fixed you up as best I could -- cleaned you up.”

 

“That still doesn’t really answer my question.”

 

Selina huffed and gave Edward an annoyed glare. “They said you’d gotten a nasty dose of fear toxin from Scarecrow, coupled with a pretty intense beatdown from Batman. I don’t think you were ever at risk of dying, but you were in bad shape.”

 

“You say that as if I’m not _still_ in bad shape,” Edward muttered.

 

“That reminds me. I’m pretty sure both your shoulder and wrist are dislocated. I couldn’t tell for certain while you were still unconscious, so I decided to wait until you were awake.”

 

“Jesus Christ. This isn’t going to be good, is it?” Edward groaned.

 

“I’m sure that’s what you get for being an arrogant asshole. Now, sit up and give me your arm. There we go. Take a deep breath, and on the count of three. One… Two…”

 

“Please be gentle-- AH!” Edward yelped and grasped his arm in pain as Selina yanked it hard as soon as she said “Two.”

 

“You said on the count of three!” Edward cried.

 

“It hurts less when you don’t expect it. Would you like some tea? I’m going to get you some tea.” Selina got up to go to the kitchen while Edward still rubbed his shoulder.

 

As Selina was busy in the kitchen, Edward sulked on the couch and mulled over what had happened. Of all the emotions he could feel over the situation, he was mainly feeling anger and self-pity. Several minutes later, Selina came back in with a cup of hot tea, some painkillers, and an ice pack.

 

Edward started complaining immediately as he was handed his tea. “I can’t believe what happened. How could Crane do that to me! _To me!_ He even ruined the robbery for the both of us! What a disaster--”

 

“Edward, calm down. You’ve already gone through enough damage, I don’t need you blowing a blood vessel on me. It isn’t even that big of a deal. You still got away, and there are still plenty of banks in Gotham. There will be another chance for you to prove yourself.”

 

“But it was humiliating, Selina. I’m going to kill that Scarecrow if I ever lay eyes on him again. He really had some nerve… And Batman! Look at what he did to me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been here to help me.”

 

“Which you still haven’t thanked me for, by the way.”

 

“ _Thank you,_ Selina. Truly.” Edward grabbed the painkillers from off the table and downed them in one swallow.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“March Hare! March Hare!”

 

Jonathan sighed in mild annoyance and turned to the smaller man who ran up to meet him. He was currently sitting at the desk in his lab, and Jervis had decided to join him. As Jonathan was working, Jervis had sat on the floor, counting up the cash in the two big duffle bags that Jonathan had grabbed from the bank.

 

Jonathan considered Jervis to be a good acquaintance, and they’d currently worked on a deal together. That was what Jonathan had gone to the bank to do: rob the bank in order to pay Jervis the cash he needed to make his mind control chips, then Jervis would offer up a few of his people for experimentation. A fair, if minor, trade, Jonathan thought, but the robbery was a botched plan that resulted in Jonathan getting less money than expected. He’d only gotten enough to pay Jervis off, despite his hope that he might at least get a few thousand for himself.

 

“My dear March Hare, you look lost in your own mind. Tell me what’s got you fuddled if you’d be so inclined.”

 

As friendly as the two were, Jonathan thought he hated the rhyming more than he hated the Wonderland quotes. “It’s nothing, Jervis, really.”

 

“That can’t be so! Not when it looks a great deal like it’s _something._ Could this be to do with our transaction, Scarecrow?”

 

Jonathan realized that Jervis probably wouldn’t be leaving him be anytime soon. “...I sprayed the Riddler square in the face with my fear toxin the other day. I found his reaction to it most interesting. It was a shame that I could not study him further, is all.”

 

“Oh, no, March Hare. Leave the Dormouse be! If everybody minded their own business, the world would go around a great deal faster than it does.” said Jervis with a quick nod of his head.

 

“I suppose you’re right.” Jonathan muttered. Jonathan ignored the Mad Hatter’s ramblings after that and continued on his notes.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Jonathan _couldn’t_ seem to mind his own business, though. Jonathan thought back to Edward’s reaction to his toxin. Edward had been murmuring to himself too quietly for Jonathan to hear what he’d been saying, but Edward had clearly been shielding himself from something. Jonathan knew very well the signs of more common fears such as arachnophobia or entomophobia, which usually involved people clawing at their own body, screaming “Get them off me! Get them _off me_!”

 

But this was different. Edward had held his head down with his hands raised, as if in penance. It seemed that Edward Nygma’s fears were more… human in nature. Jonathan guessed that it was a fear of either a particular person or perhaps something intangible in nature, like humiliation. This signaled to Jonathan that the Riddler’s deepest fears were deliciously complex, and Jonathan wanted to know more.

 

“Oh, the man who thinks he’s a god. But fear makes us feel our own humanity.” Jonathan whispered to himself.

 

Jonathan decided to find out more about the Riddler. He was undeniably curious, so perhaps a background check might shed some light on the situation. Unfortunately, Jonathan was the least tech-savvy person he knew, so he’d have to ask someone else to dig into Nygma’s files. Worse, the best man for any hacking job was… Edward Nygma. And if Jonathan was going to have the guy hack into his own records, he might as well just ask him about his past up front. But that wouldn’t do, either. Edward was probably still angry with him after their last… interaction. It seemed that Jonathan was stuck between a rock and a hard place with this one.

 

The only person he felt remotely close with was Jervis. While he didn’t seem like the type to be big on computers, especially when in one of his Wonderland fantasies, Jonathan reasoned that since Jervis clearly had some technological knowledge with his mind control chips, he should at the very least _own_ a decent computer. Jonathan sighed and gave Jervis a call. He told the deranged man that he wanted to do some research into the other rogue, and required Jervis’s help with his computer. Jervis readily agreed and said he’d be there right away with an old laptop of his that would do the job nicely.

 

When Jonathan heard a sharp knock on his door, he opened it to allow Jervis in and asked him to put the laptop on the counter. Jervis climbed up onto one of the chairs and loaded it up for Jonathan. Instead of giving Jonathan access to the computer, he merely asked him what he’d like to do. Jonathan didn’t appreciate the minor insult at his lack of computer knowledge but reasoned that it was probably for the best that he let Jervis work on this.

 

“Tell me anything you can about Edward Nygma, Jervis.”

 

Jervis made a worried noise and looked at Jonathan with a mixture of confusion and hesitation. Jonathan recalled Jervis’s warning from the other day and knew that the smaller man was puzzled by Jonathan’s odd fascination with the Riddler. Clashes between two rogues rarely ended well, and Jervis was merely holding concern for his friend.

 

Jonathan looked him in the eye. “Please, Jervis. This is important business.”

 

Jervis gave him one last odd look before turning back to his laptop and tapping out a few commands on the keyboard. It seemed that Jervis had access to the police database. Jonathan would have to ask about that later.

 

It was several minutes before Jervis finally spoke. “Curiouser and curiouser… I’m sorry, March Hare, but there is nothing. At least, no records before his first cuffing. The Riddler is a clever one -- he deleted the files ‘til there were none!”

 

Jonathan rolled his eyes at the poor use of rhyme. However, it wasn’t too difficult to understand what Jervis meant. He rubbed at his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “So… what you’re telling me is that Nygma likely paid people off or hacked the system himself to remove any important files about himself, such birth records, and the only documentation available are the news reports and arrest records?”

 

Jervis nodded and lowered his head as if he was feeling guilty. Jonathan sighed. “Great. Thank you anyway, Jervis. Do you think you could pull any and all news reports, arrest records, and Arkham records you can find on him and get them to me on paper?” Jervis sat up straighter and nodded once again, smiling, this time. “Thank you, Jervis. Truly.”

 

After Jervis left, Jonathan still sat at the counter, pondering. It seemed that Nygma didn’t want anyone knowing about his past, and he’d worked hard to cover his tracks. Jonathan could understand wanting to keep the history locked away, even if there wasn’t much in it that could do harm anymore. In a life like this, the world was your enemy, and anyone in it would jump at the opportunity to exploit your greatest weaknesses and do you harm. Hell, Jonathan was one of the most guilty of that. But Jonathan had the feeling that there was something more. Something juicy in Edward’s past that was the key to his greatest fears. After all, every Gotham villain had a reason for being who they were, and Jonathan was desperate to find out Edward’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho, boy. Raise your hand if you hate writing dialogue!
> 
> But good news, the chapter is up a bit early! I was just incredibly motivated in writing the bank robbery scene. I even exceeded my goal for chapter word count. However, I felt like the last two scenes with Jervis were a little... meh. Not because Jervis was in them, of course, but just because the felt a little rushed to me. I just couldn't find a better way to fix it or resolve the chapter in another way. I'm lazy like that.
> 
> Also, I feel like Batman's part was very out of character for him. Not that I feel like it's a problem that needs fixing, but I AM aware. I just feel like even heroes can let their emotions or personal feelings get the better of them and they might lose some of their common sense. Even Batman! Especially Batman... I don't know. Edward made a big mistake in shooting Robin, but I don't feel like he deserved what he got. 
> 
> Poor Edward. 
> 
> Anyways, let me know what you think of this chapter! I'll try and keep up with the whole "one chapter per week" thing, so expect Chapter 3 sometime next week. I have to admit, I'm having a hard time figuring out what I want to do with this one, though... :)


	3. Nemesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward's starting to heal from that awful night at the bank, and he isn't going to let an embarrassment like that slide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay! I'm a busy bitch, what can I say. 
> 
> And if anyone's curious, as far as young Riddler goes, I find this art by Zara absolutely perfect: http://za-ra-h.tumblr.com/post/166551285886/forgive-my-arrogance-doctor-but-if-you-think-i
> 
> Thank you guys for all the positive feedback so far! <3

Edward poured himself a glass of brandy and walked over to the window of his apartment. His apartment was located in East Chinatown, and down below, he could see the GCPD building a little ways off. He had not intentionally chosen the apartment because of the view, but he often felt satisfaction standing (quite literally) above the police.  

 

It had been several weeks since the incident at the bank. Edward had mostly healed, but his pride was still greatly wounded. 

 

However, despite being unwillingly reminded of that night every time Edward saw his still-healing injuries in the mirror or aggravated his aching ribs, it was time to move past all that. Edward was a busy man, and he had things he needed to get done. 

 

Taking his gaze off the city view, Edward set his glass of liquor down on the coffee table and walked off to the bathroom. The fluorescent lights flickered on, and Edward grimaced at the face that stared back at him in the mirror. Much of the scrapes and bruises that he’d received from the robbery had faded over a week ago, but his nose was slightly crooked after the nasty break, and Edward still had yellowing bruises ringed under his eyes. Working slowly and wincing in mild pain, Edward carefully pulled off the remaining gauze on the injury, which had a couple of blood stains on it. Dropping the soiled bandage into the trash can by the toilet, Edward examined himself in the mirror once more.

 

“Fucking Crane,” Edward mumbled lowly. In reality, Edward knew he should have been angrier at Batman. But at least Batman he was used to. Crane, on the other hand, had attacked him completely unprovoked. Furthermore, he’d forced Edward to confront the worst thing in his life, and in such a way that Edward had no escape. 

 

It was a humiliating, horrific, and all-around painful experience for Edward, and while he wanted to forget that night as quickly as possible, he also wasn’t going to let Scarecrow get away with that kind of treatment. 

 

The first order of business was to set up a deal with his favorite thief. Edward dug into his pockets and pulled his cell phone to quick-dial Selina. After a few rings, he heard her pick up. 

 

“Edward. To what do I owe the pleasure? Care for another dinner date?” Selina asked.

 

“Actually, Selina, I had something else in mind. I’m in need of your services, you see.” Edward started.

 

“My  _ services,  _ Edward? Mm. And what are we talking about here? Breaking into Wayne Tower? Stealing a fine museum piece? Oh, when I was at the museum, I saw a piece I just  _ knew  _ you’d love. I might even be feeling generous and give you a friend’s discount, Eddie.” 

 

As tempting as the prospects were, Edward had an agenda to push. “I do need you to steal something for me, Lina. But it’s not a museum piece.” 

 

“And what is it that you’d like me to steal?” Selina prodded. 

 

“Information.” 

 

Selina was not easily surprised, but Edward had a strong feeling that he’d gotten her with this one. Edward was the king of information, and if he wanted to find out somebody’s secrets, Edward could very well do it himself. But he had a special task for Selina. 

 

“Information? Not really my forté, Edward. What are you asking for, exactly?” she inquired. 

 

“I’m looking into Crane, Selina. I’ll figure out where he’s been hiding out, and I’d like for you to break into the place and gather whatever you might deem useful--” 

 

Selina cut in before he could finish, “You want me to do  _ what _ ? The break-in sounds easy enough, Edward, but this seems like a haphazard and risky job, especially if Crane finds out.” 

 

“You know this would be easier for me if all the information were in a database, but Dr. Crane is a very secretive man, and I’m confident that I could learn so much more if we’re able to find any physical evidence of his,” Edward argued, “I don’t want you to actually  _ steal  _ anything, per se, but take pictures of the place, take pictures of documents, papers, anything. It should be an easy job, Lina. And I’ll pay you well.” 

 

Selina sighed. “...I don’t like this, Edward. But I’ll take the job. We can negotiate terms of payment later. I just hope you know what you’re getting into.” 

 

After Selina’s words of discouragement, Edward wasn’t sure he did. 

_________________________________________________________________________________

 

Edward had contacted some of his sources out on the streets, and he’d found out that Scarecrow was living in a hideout not far from his own apartment. He’d sent Selina the address nearly two days ago, and then it had merely been a waiting game for Selina to find the right opportunity to break in without risk of getting caught. 

 

Without Selina even getting inside the place, Edward had already figured out two things: one, that Crane was basically a hermit that rarely left his lab, and two, he was inhuman in his ability to  _ never  _ sleep. 

 

Edward had many paid informants throughout Gotham, each his eyes and ears, and one of them had sent him a message about two hours earlier saying that Crane was leaving his hideout dressed in his full Scarecrow getup. Edward had immediately called Selina, telling her to play it safe and act fast. 

 

While Edward waited to get a glimpse inside of Scarecrow’s hideout, he’d taken the time to do some research of his own. Edward had long since had access to the GCPD’S database and the record systems at Arkham and Blackgate, and he used every resource he had available to find out whatever he could about Doctor Crane. 

 

GCPD’s systems were easy enough. He logged in and typed in Jonathan Crane’s name. Several files came to view, including Crane’s birth certificate, criminal record, and curriculum vitae. Some of the information Edward already knew from the kind of gossip he’d heard from the other rogues. He held a medical doctorate in psychiatry and a masters in chemistry, and he’d been the chief psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum and the director of research at Blackgate Penitentiary after being fired from his professorship at Gotham University. His criminal record mostly listed cases of robbery, murder, and reckless endangerment. It seemed that his murder spree began after his positions were revoked, and his first murder was listed as… his own great-grandmother. 

 

It was true that Edward had killed his own father -- so it was hypocritical of him to renounce the killing one’s own family -- but what could a sweet, helpless old lady have done to deserve that? Edward felt an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach. 

 

Edward found nothing too surprising or of import from the records he’d already looked at, besides Crane’s earliest crimes. What he was really interested in were Crane’s birth records. Unfortunately, some pieces of information were missing, but Edward did find out that Crane was born in rural Georgia to a young woman named Karen Keeny. It seemed he was born sickly and underweight. A father had not been listed. Perhaps the Crane name belonged to him. 

 

Edward hadn’t found out too much (yet, at least), but some of this information could be useful. Edward began to upload the files onto a hard drive.  

 

He then heard a knock at his door and went to open it. He was immediately met with Selina, holding what looked like an expensive camera in her hands. She handed it to Edward and waltzed further into his apartment, lying down elegantly on one of his couches. 

 

“I took pictures of just about everything, Eddie, just like you asked. You owe me big time, by the way. His place was filthy.” Selina scowled and picked a stray thread from her outfit. 

 

Edward walked over to his computer to plug in the camera and started uploading the photos. “Whatever you need, Selina. Thank you. What do I owe you, then?” 

 

“$2,500 for the photos and my precious time. An extra $600 for the camera.” Selina said.  

 

Edward made a face but didn’t argue. As he waited for the pictures to finish uploading, Edward bent down to open the small safe in his office and pulled out the cash he needed. Selina got up from the couch and went to sit on the edge of his desk. He handed her the wad of cash and opened up the camera’s file. The first several images were just of the space of Crane’s hideout. Selina was right: the place really was filthy. 

 

“Crane’s  _ quite _ the interior designer. You should’ve seen the tanks filled with cockroaches and other gross insects,” Selina remarked. 

 

“I’d rather not, dear. Crane’s style isn’t really of my taste,” Edward said with a frown. As he looked through the photos, Edward wondered if all this had been for nothing. The pictures mainly consisted of useless trash lying around and a lab setup of various beakers and test tubes. One photo showed a copy of a mostly empty bookcase, containing copies of  _ The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Ulysses,  _ and a collection of poems by T.S. Eliot, along with some scientific journals. The Scarecrow was not a man who possessed many objects of sentimental value. However, some of the last photos contained in the file were images of Doctor Crane’s notes from his experiments and even a couple of pages which listed chemical formulas. Perhaps this was what Edward had been looking for! 

 

“I didn’t exactly have the time to take pictures of every page, or even read them -- not that I could read that chicken scratch, to begin with -- but I took what I could,” said Selina. 

 

“You’ve been very helpful, Selina. Thank you.” Edward said again. He downloaded the photos onto the same hard drive as Crane’s records. He unplugged it from his computer, put a piece of duct tape on the hard drive, and labeled it “Crane” in green sharpie. 

 

Selina watched Edward with a calculating eye, then made her way towards the door. “It seems like you’ve got a case of Crane fever, Eddie. I hope you get better soon.” and left without another word. 

 

Edward looked down at the hard drive and frowned. This was hardly obsession -- it was merely… research. Edward could delve into this more later. But first, he had something important he needed to do. 

_________________________________________________________________________________

 

Edward pulled over to the side of the road and parked the car. He was a respectable distance from the entrance of the prison, considering it was barricaded by a tall, chain link fence and topped with barbed wire. The only way in and out of the detention center was guarded by two officers that were sure to check for identification and search the vehicle of anyone who tried to get inside. In the distance, he spotted a couple of guard watchtowers looking out across the yard, and several other officers parading around the perimeter.

 

Blackgate was a maximum security prison, and if Edward was going to try and break out his girls, he would need an insider’s help. Blackgate was reserved for Gotham’s criminals that were  _ not  _ insane, and besides the rare Batman foe that was reasonably normal, such as Catwoman, the majority of the prison population consisted of the many, many henchmen that nearly every rogue had. So Edward had quite a lot of connections here. 

 

The plan was simple: Edward had paid one of his henchmen a handsome sum to get himself arrested and sent to Blackgate, where his (hopefully) foolproof job was to organize a riot and find a way to contact his girls so that they’d know the signal. In the chaos of the riot, it would be all-hands-on-deck with security, so Query and Echo could find a way to get the hell out of there and make it to the getaway car. In this case, the getaway driver was Edward. He’d felt awful about his two best girls taking the fall for him, and he was going to make it up to them by busting them out, personally. 

 

Edward felt like he’d been waiting an agonizingly long time for the alarm to sound. He’d told the guy the date and time, and he’d better not screw this up. Finally, after what felt like hours, Edward heard the distant cacophony of angry yelling and shouting, and the loud siren began to wail. 

 

He sat up straighter in the driver seat and watched as the two security officers guarding the front entrance exchanged a look of both confusion and alarm before receiving a message over their two-way radios. Clambering out of their booth, they climbed into the police cart parked behind it and sped off towards the prison, very likely going in to offer much-needed backup. All the guards outside of the prison also moved in to lend assistance. As soon as they were gone, Edward got out of the car and walked into the now-abandoned booth. The entrance gate rattled open as Edward pulled up the lever. 

 

He ran back to the car, and as soon as he put it in drive, Edward stepped on the gas and sped towards the prison. The prison was segregated between men and women. The riot broke out on the men’s side of the prison, and while the women’s wing was not as heavily guarded even on an average day, the number of officers there would be even lower in the next few minutes to help aid in the riot. The buildings for men and women were entirely separate, and Edward stopped the car in front of the entrance to the women’s wing, waiting for a sign of Nina or Deidre.  

 

Edward saw a large gathering of the female inmates gathered out in the prison courtyard. It seemed that upon hearing the alarm sound, they’d started a riot of their own, which would make escape all the easier. Unlike the male prisoners, instead of turning on one another, all of them had focused their anger on the few guards remaining in the building. The officers held out their batons and tasers, trying to quell the growing chaos as they were repeatedly shoved and punched by the inmates. In the distance, several prisoners in their orange jumpsuits were making a quick escape from the men’s building, being chased after by two of the prison guards. Edward heard several gunshots, most likely coming from the security. 

 

As soon as Edward felt the creeping fear that his girls had not received word about the plan, he saw two familiar faces burst out the double doors. Echo was carrying a gun stolen from one of the prison guards. They were both still wearing those awful orange uniforms. The second they saw the car, both women ran over to the car and jumped in. Not risking any precious time picking a seat, they just opened the back door and climbed over each other, shutting the door while they were still entangled with one another. As soon as the door was shut, Edward wasted no time slamming on the gas and getting out of there as fast as possible. Edward heard them both make a sound of surprise as they were tossed around in the back seat. 

 

As soon as they were at a safe distance, Edward slowed the car down to the speed limit in an attempt to look inconspicuous. The police would surely be sending out a call to be on the lookout for the three of them, and it would be an awful shame to be captured so soon. Once the prison was barely visible from the rearview mirror, Query and Echo both sat up, situated themselves, and wisely buckled in. 

 

“Hey there, Boss!” Query said, finally. 

 

“Yeah! Thanks for bustin’ us out, Bossman! We owe ya one.” said Echo. They both sounded happy to see him. 

 

“No, no, girls. You don’t owe me anything. If anything, I owe both of you for taking the fall back at the bank.” Without taking his eyes off the road, Edward grabbed the folded clothes that he’d placed on the passenger seat and handed them back to the two of them. It would’ve been very unwise to have them put their costumes back on, but Edward had put together a nice set of green, black, and purple outfits for the both of them. “I brought you both something to change into.” 

 

“Thanks, Boss!” They both said simultaneously. Edward stayed silent as they took the clothes and changed out of their prison uniforms. 

 

As soon as he believed they were finished, Edward spoke. “Again, I’m sorry you ended up in Blackgate for that, girls. I didn’t know any of that would happen.”    
  
“No worries, Boss. We’re sorry about what happened to you back there. That Bat will pay for hurtin’ you like that!” said Query as she crossed her arms angrily. Echo nodded in agreement. 

 

After that, the car was filled with an uncomfortable silence. It seems that no one wanted to mention the elephant in the room, especially Edward. After tapping her fingers together nervously, Query piped back up. 

 

“Eddie…  I know that you probably don’t want to talk about it, and I know that it happened nearly two months ago, now. But… what  _ did  _ happen, exactly?” 

 

Edward sighed. He knew how serious they were being if either of them called him anything more than “boss” or “bossman.” The problem was, even though Nina and Deidre knew him better than anyone else, he could still never tell them about his childhood. Edward never wanted to appear vulnerable to either of them, so he had never exposed himself in such a way as openly talking about his abusive father. He never wanted to lie to them, but Edward didn’t feel that this was the right time to tell them the whole truth. 

 

“Scarecrow got me with his gas. I guess I was pretty out of it; otherwise, I wouldn’t have had it so hard with the Bat. Neither of them will just be getting away with that, though. I assure you.” Edward answered.

 

“But what did you  _ see _ ?” Echo asked. 

 

Edward shrugged halfheartedly. “I guess it wasn’t that strong of a dosage. I’ll admit I was frightened, but I didn’t really hallucinate anything in particular.” 

 

They both nodded, seeming to accept it as the truth. “We’re sorry about all that, anyways, Boss.” 

 

From the rearview mirror, Edward smiled back at them, but decided to change the subject. “Want me to drop you girls off back at your apartment?”

 

“Sure, Boss. We’ll find a place to stay while everything calms down, ourselves.” Query replied, “Give yourself a break, Eddie.” 

 

Without answering, Edward focused back on the road and started toward the apartment building. 

_________________________________________________________________________________

 

Edward was in his workshop working on his latest batch of trophies. He’d created nearly a dozen since that morning, but his end goal was to create a couple hundred to scatter around Gotham in an attempt to finally ensnare the Bat. 

 

It had been nearly half a year since he’d had last seen Scarecrow in person, and Edward was growing impatient. Edward never stayed silent for long, so he’d already had a few run-ins with the Bat, but his real interest was in Scarecrow. Edward had gone back several times to the files he had on Crane to try and create a profile of the rogue, and now he was biding his time for the perfect opportunity to strike. 

 

Edward had not actively sought out Scarecrow to avoid seeming… pathetic, for lack of a better word. He had wanted Scarecrow to come to  _ him,  _ but that outcome seemed unlikely. If anything, Scarecrow seemed to be  _ avoiding  _ him. 

 

Edward reached down to grab more material for the next trophy when he realized he’d run out of metal sheets. Edward sighed inwardly, knowing he’d have to take the time to go out and get more.  

 

Edward mainly committed robberies for money, Wayne tech, or fine art. He had enough funds to not be so petty as to steal cheap hardware. Those things could be easily paid for, but being who he was, Edward did not have the luxury of simply being able to walk down the street without being the victim of a citizen’s arrest. He knew of a scrapyard just a couple of blocks from his apartment, and Edward decided to go there to find what he needed. 

 

Cutting through back alleys was quick on the walk to the yard, and already, Edward could see a thin sheet of metal lying on the ground by the entrance. It was large enough to be cut into multiple pieces, which would give Edward just enough material to work with until he could order more. Edward bent down to collect the scrap metal, but when he stood back up, he nearly had a heart attack when not far off stood a man, simply staring him down next to the back entrance of an abandoned office building. Up until that point, Edward had only seen this man’s face in a mugshot. This was the first time they’d met when not in their respective costumes. 

 

It was then that Edward realized precisely where he was… he was practically in Scarecrow’s backyard. So much for Scarecrow coming to him. And Edward must have certainly looked pathetic at that moment, digging around in a junkyard wearing civilian clothing. 

 

Regardless of Edward’s reasons for being there, the Scarecrow looked threatened by Edward infringing on his territory. Without a word, Crane made for Edward, digging into his pocket and pulling out a needle already filled with his toxin. Edward dug into his own pocket and pulled out the knife he always made sure to carry. Edward hated to the whole “artless” fighting style, preferring to keep his hands clean, but when worse comes to worst, a man just has to fight dirty. It was simply self-defense. 

 

Neither man was well-trained in hand-to-hand combat, but each knew just enough to defend himself when needed. Edward quickly dropped the scrap metal he’d been carrying and made a swipe at Crane with his blade. He not only missed his target, but received a swift kick to the jaw for his effort. Edward grunted in pain, clutching his jaw. He made another swing at Crane, knicking the hand that attempted to stab Edward in the neck with the needle. Jonathan hissed, dropping the syringe as he instinctively drew his hand back. As he was momentarily distracted, Edward knocked Crane’s legs out from under him, and Jonathan fell backward, landing on his back. His elbow crushed the syringe into the cobbled pavement, causing it to crack. The fear toxin began to leak out, rendering the Scarecrow’s first line of defense useless. 

 

As he was still lying on the ground, Crane grabbed Edward by the ankle and pulled at it hard, causing Edward to also fall. The knife slipped from his grip and clattered across the pavement -- out of his reach. Edward’s vision went black for a moment as the back of his head made impact with the solid earth. Edward brought his hand to the back of his head for a moment, feeling a stinging sensation and looked at his fingers to see a bit of blood. Jonathan moved to straddle Edward’s upper body and wrapped his hands tightly around Edward’s throat. 

 

“What are you doing here?” Jonathan growled. 

 

Through the pain, Edward felt confused. While Doctor Crane’s personality left a lot to be desired, he was also known to be one of the most composed and patient rogues in Gotham, as far as such a criminal could be, anyway. Yet he was acting incredibly violent with Edward seemingly unprovoked.  

 

“I’m not here for you, Crane. I swear!” Edward ground out. “What are  _ you  _ doing here?” Jonathan had yet to find out that Edward knew his address. 

 

Crane seemed to relax slightly. Instead of answering, Jonathan got up off Edward, fixed his glasses, and brushed off his pants. His joints ached, and his elbow was bleeding after he’d scraped it on the pavement. He walked over and grabbed the knife before Edward could help himself up. Edward deflated a bit -- he’d grown quite attached to that knife. He was never going to get that back.  

 

Jonathan pointed the knife at Edward threateningly. The threat was not an empty one, but Jonathan seemed to have no fight left in him -- frail as he looked. “That’s not your business, Edward. Walk away.” 

 

Edward puffed up at the affront. Refusing to grace the Scarecrow with a response, Edward picked himself up with as much dignity as he could, fixed up his shirt and huffed theatrically, and turned towards home. He didn’t look back to see Jonathan toss the knife onto the ground before turning in to his hideout. 

 

Each in their respective homes, both men sat cleaning up their wounds. Their spat had been a relatively minor incident, but they both had felt a shift in the nature of their relationship to one another. Perhaps not a change for the better, but the two of them couldn’t help but feel closer to one another. Things were becoming more personal. 

 

And as they say: keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always love a good anticlimactic fight scene.  
> Also, when writing that last part, I was thinking of that Tumblr post "Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. THAT'S TOO CLOSE!" 
> 
> Random sidenote: There's this store in my city called Skycraft Parts & Surplus and it's like hardware heaven. I imagine Edward stealing parts from there almost daily. I also highkey headcanon that he's a talented concept artist.
> 
> Anyways, sadly, the winter break is now over, and I'm going to be busier. So there'll be a bit of a longer wait for chapters. 
> 
> I went back through the first chapters and found a couple of mistakes. I may or may not go back and fix those :/ I use Grammarly Premium for proofreading, but hey, a computer can't beat a beta reader, I guess! I've also lazily stopped trying to fix the formatting. It changes a bit when copying it over from Google Docs. 
> 
> Also, I had mentioned that I would try to create an overlying plot for this fic, but as I was writing, I realized that this fic stretches over such a long period of time that that would be quite difficult to accomplish, so I think I'm just going to focus on the relationship and not try to create some sort of hero's journey for the two of them. This might change the length of the fic.


	4. Straw Man Fallacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward ends up back in Arkham and is given the last cellmate he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the point for shameless self-promotion. Hit me up on my scriddler side blog @avianautopsy, my main Tumblr is @cilliance, but it's mostly memes tbh
> 
> Anyways, I'm back with the next part of the story! Enjoy!

Jonathan ran as fast as his legs could carry him, and his chest burned from the exertion. He’d hoped this would be a quick and easy robbery, but the way things were going, it didn’t seem that way. He could still hear the terrified screams of the security guards as he ran from ACE Chemicals, and he almost laughed at the beautiful sound. Knowing that Batman and Robin were on his heels, he either had to move faster or think his way out of this.   
  
Turning into an alley, Jonathan stopped to take a quick breather. He reasoned that he was more likely to get away if he didn’t end up passing out from exhaustion. However, it seemed that his luck had run out when Robin jumped down from the fire escape above and kicked Jonathan to the ground. The vials of chemicals that he had run in to collect shattered on the dirty alley floor. He gave a quiet groan as his face was ground into the pavement.   
  
“It’s over, Scarecrow!” The boy shouted as he held a green boot to Jonathan’s back. Beneath his burlap mask, Jonathan rolled his eyes. Batman quietly landed on the ground beside Robin and leaned over to place him in handcuffs.   
  
“It’s back to Arkham, Scarecrow,” Batman said gruffly.   
  
Jonathan didn’t grace them with a retort. He was lifted up roughly by the back of his shirt and led to the back of the Batmobile where he was strapped into one of the secure seats. On the long ride to Arkham, Jonathan closed his eyes to stifle the boiling anger over yet another failed endeavor. He was left to nothing but his thoughts as the armored exterior and the padded interior of the Batmobile muffled the sounds of the outside world.   
  
He felt the car grind to a halt and was roughly pulled from his seat once the trunk of the car opened. Jonathan bristled over being manhandled by such a young boy. He was still coming down from the adrenaline high from the robbery and was still under the influence of his alternate personality.   
  
“Unhand me, child! Or your hands are coming off!” he snapped.   
  
Before Robin could reply, Batman yanked Jonathan from the boy’s grasp and leaned close to his face, “If you have nothing nice to say, Scarecrow, don’t say anything at all.” He punctuated his last words as he pushed Jonathan through the Asylum gates.   
  
Jonathan grumbled bitterly as he saw two security guards and one of the head doctors waiting for them at the front entrance.   
  
This recent crime was a relatively small one, but Jonathan felt that he’d be here a while as his past crimes stacked up.

  
_________________________________________________________________________

  
  
Edward removed his orange jumpsuit and -- using a sharpie stolen from one of the nurses -- drew a giant question mark on the back and on the front side drew a small question mark where the breast pocket would have been. The inmates hardly got the same uniform each time they were admitted to the asylum, and Edward often had to draw new question marks on his uniform each time he was captured. Each time he escaped, he often threw the uniform out, and if the asylum was lucky enough to get a hold of it, they’d just bleach the marks out, and he’d have to start right back over again.     
  
He’d been back in Arkham for about two weeks now. He’d been working on another one of his death traps in an old warehouse when somehow the Bat had been tipped off, and he’d been sent back to Arkham before he’d even been able to finish it. As frustrating as it was, he could really leave the asylum whenever he pleased. Security was terrible and -- with a mind like his -- escape was effortless to begin with. However, he’d often let the dust settle before deciding to make another escape. Usually, there was a buzz around the asylum whenever a well-known criminal was captured or when there had been a recent breakout. Gaps between each breakout usually prevented anyone from making the argument of ramping up security more than it was. Why make it harder on yourself?     
  
By the time Edward had finished his work, the sharpie had run out of ink. He quickly inspected his work and pulled the jumpsuit back on. Just then, two security guards appeared at his cell door, and without saying a word, gestured for Edward to stick his hands through the slot in the door in order to be cuffed. He was apparently being led somewhere, but Edward could not guess where. He was positive that he had not been scheduled for anything at this hour.

Edward felt a twinge of that same uncomfortable dread he’d always felt when being sent to the principal’s office as a kid as he was led down the long hallway lined with other cells. He’d been an intelligent student with high grades, but was regularly given referrals for starting fights with other students and teachers alike. It wasn’t  _his_ fault that they’d happened to be wrong.

He was told to have a seat outside of the director’s office. Not a minute after arriving, Edward was invited into Doctor Lang’s office and sat in front of his desk. One of the guards waited inside the room by the door. Edward was still chained at the wrists and ankles. Dr. Lang placed his hands on the desk and was giving Edward that grouchy look he always had on his face.

Edward did not like any of the staff at Arkham, but Dr. Lang was the most infuriating of them all. He wore an old, stiff suit in an attempt to appear to have some semblance of wealth, and along with the few rings on his fingers, he wore a Rolex watch that he couldn’t have possibly afforded. His office was spotless, and sitting on his desk was a gold nameplate that read “ _Dr. Gerry Lang, Ph.D.”_

Doctor Lang spoke, “Mr. Nygma. As you are well aware, you are one of the inmates placed on the ‘solitary cell’ list due to your… particular personality traits. I have called you into my office to inform you that this decision is being reversed.”   

“ _Reversed!?”_ Edward sputtered, “I am not going to cell with some mindless monkey because the asylum is running out of space due to _your_ incompetence!”

It was Dr. Lang’s turn to look offended. “ _My_ incompetence _?_ This mental institution has become a well-oiled machine under my direction! I have wanted nothing but the best for my patients, including you, Mr. Nygma. But it is not my fault that mental illness runs rampant outside of these walls. It is only for the best that we take these poor, lost souls in.”

“‘WELL-OILED MACHINE!?’” Edward yelled, “There were three riots in the cafeteria just _yesterday!_ ”

“That’s enough, Mr. Nygma!” Dr. Lang demanded, “You have no choice in this matter. There are not enough cells to accommodate the number of patients we have currently, and as much as I loathe to admit it, you are one of the least insane patients here, so of those that are listed for solitary, you are going to be the one that must make sacrifices.”

Dr. Lang turned back to his paperwork. “You should have a new cellmate within a few days. Good day, Mr. Nygma.” Edward continued to look at the man with disbelief as he was escorted out before he could get another word in edgewise.

  
__________________________________________________________________________

  
With a piece of chalk stolen from his art therapy session, Edward sat on the ground and leaned against the wall of the cell to begin doodling on the floor. Down the hallway, he could hear the clanging of the ward door opening and closing, and the sounds of two guards talking as they carried in an inmate, if Edward could tell by the rattling of chains and the third pair of footsteps.   
  
Arkham’s director had told him personally that they would begin pairing inmates up. Later, Edward had heard that it was not only because they were overcrowded, but because some new head doctor decided that isolation would not aid in “patient recovery.” As of yet, though, Edward remained alone in his cell. He had acted indignant in front of Dr. Lang, but if he were honest with himself, he’d take just about anybody to talk to, even if they wouldn’t talk back. One can only spend so long within the maze of their own mind, especially if that someone was Edward.   
  
Edward paid no attention to the passing guards and continued drawing on the floor, that is until they stopped in front of his cell.   
  
“Nygma! You’ve got a new roommate!” one of the guards joked.   
  
“You’re gonna like this one!” laughed the other.   
  
His cell door clattered as one of the guards unlocked it and rolled it to the side. Edward slowly looked up from his drawing on the floor and made eye contact with this new inmate. He had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes and sighing dramatically.   
  
Of all the people he could’ve been paired with, it had to be the Scarecrow.   
  
Crane did not break eye contact with him until he turned around to have the guards take off his handcuffs. Edward could feel pure anger rising up inside him, and -- while he didn’t show it -- he’d bet good money that Crane was feeling the same. The guards continued to laugh to themselves over this oh-so-funny predicament, and Edward felt sure that the higher-ups had done this just to spite them.

Once the guards walked away, Edward was left alone with Crane in the one-room cell. They continued to stare at one another as Crane stood by the cell door and Edward looked up at him from his crouched position.

Despite the growing animosity between the two, Jonathan seemed to be in no mood to talk as he finally broke eye contact in order to climb into the bed on the other side of the room and lay facing away from Edward.

Edward scoffed and went back to drawing a small doodle of Batman being crushed by his own tank of a car (Edward didn’t have to prove his genius by writing out difficult equations  _all_ the time). If Jonathan didn’t want to talk then fine, Edward wouldn’t talk.

Though, Edward secretly hoped that Jonathan wouldn’t decide to continue to give him the silent treatment for the remainder of their stay together. Edward didn’t mind the cellmates that ignored him, but Edward was also never stuck with someone that had been able to hurt him so badly. It was mildly humiliating enough to run into Crane at a time when he was virtually defenseless, and Edward would be truly damned were he to be the first one to break the silent standoff.

Once again, Edward cursed Dr. Lang and the other Arkham staff for forcing such a partnership onto him. He had a feeling that this run in the asylum would be almost as bad as the first time he’d ever stayed here. Especially if the two of them were too stubborn to try and speak with one another.

God knew that Edward was already bursting at the seems to start talking.  

__________________________________________________________________________

 

In one of the asylum’s rooms reserved for group therapy sessions, Edward sat with several other rogues in a circular formation, preparing for another useless session of talking openly about their feelings. Edward stared ahead at the wall blankly, for the first time actually attempting to reduce his mind to an empty husk. To each side of him were Poison Ivy and Killer Croc, with the Scarecrow sitting perpendicular to Edward. Also present were Victor Zsasz, Professor Pyg, and Jervis.

Doctor Brooks sat in the circle with them. She chose her seat carefully as to be the clear leader of the group, but was also sitting in the same kind of chair the rest of them were in an attempt to make them feel (unnecessarily) like equals.

Some of the rogues were quietly bickering among one another. The psychologist cleared her throat politely to get them to stop and listen to her. The murmuring did cease, but instead, each of the rogues looked to her with an irritated glare. Dr. Brooks seemed to pay no mind to it as she began the group therapy session.

“Today, I’d like to talk about each of your first crimes. A criminal -- such as yourselves’ -- first murder often leaves the biggest imprint and is usually of great importance to them. Let’s start with you, Edward.”

Edward instinctively felt his heart beat faster. In school, Edward had always been the know-it-all student to volunteer for every question, but here, Edward finally knew the feeling of those kids who were called on that did not know the answer. He could feel all eyes on him, and he could feel the anticipation of the others emanating off of them.

Dr. Brooks flipped through Edward’s file. “It says here that your first murder was… your father. Why did you kill your own father, Edward?”

Edward could have sworn he’d deleted that information from his file. He, of course, knew the response to the question. The difference between this and those kids in class was that Edward would rather die than give them the _correct_ answer. They were like sharks, the lot of them, and they could smell the blood in the water.  

Edward made the mistake of glancing over to his right nervously and made eye contact with Jonathan. Jonathan was looking at him unblinking with those piercing blue eyes of his. Edward shifted under the gaze. He felt like a sample under a microscope. Not too far off, with most of the rogues being once talented doctors and scientists.

Edward attempted to cover his discomfort by leaning back in his seat and giving her a sneer. Crane and Ivy seemed unconvinced, but Dr. Brooks showed the first signs of nervousness.

Edward gave her the first lie he could think of. “Dr. Brooks, my father was simply in the way of me achieving my greatest success. There’s nothing more to read into besides that I never much cared for him.” Edward swung his arm over the back of his chair and crossed his legs.

“What do you mean, ‘in the way of achieving your greatest success?’” she asked.

Edward sighed dramatically. “I’ve always been my own man. I couldn’t have the old timer trying to take the credit for making me who I am -- taking the credit for _my_ achievements -- now could I?”

“I suppose not.” Dr. Brooks frowned. “And so you just… killed him?”

“And so I killed him.” Edward still felt a considerable amount of discomfort, but decided to leave it at that. Everyone in the group continued to stare at him.

Mercifully, Dr. Brooks decided to turn her attention elsewhere. “Well,” she held onto her clipboard with both hands, “Jonathan, why don’t you go next?”

“No.”

“Jonathan… This exercise is meant to help both yourself and other members of the group grow to understand your motivations and influences. If you do not willingly participate, I will look into your files and ask you more directly.” the doctor explained with a sickly sweet smile.

Jonathan looked at her over his prison-approved eyeglasses. “You seem to forget who I am, Miss Brooks. I was once a chief psychiatrist here at Arkham, and I argue that this method of therapy acts as nothing more than a ‘Gotham Rogues’ gossip session.”

“Please try and change your mindset, Jonathan,” said Dr. Brooks. She once more flipped through her files, “It says in your records that your first murder was your great-grandmother--”

“She was not my first murder,” Jonathan cut in.

“But it says here--”

“Well, what it says there is _wrong_. My great-grandmother was not the first person I had killed. Therefore, I cannot comment on the significance of my first kill if you do not know what it was, and no, I absolutely not share on who that really is.” Crane was growing angry, “Please move on, Miss Brooks.”  

“ _Doctor_ Brooks, Jonathan,” she tutted. It seemed that she realized she was not going to get anywhere with Crane, so Dr. Brooks decided not to waste any more time on him.

As Dr. Brooks moved on to try and pull a story out of Waylon, Edward sat there with a feeling of surprise. Edward himself had gone through Jonathan’s files, and for once, Dr. Brooks was not wrong. Crane’s first listed crime was of his great-grandmother. It was true that her death was not realized to have been caused by Jonathan until after he’d taken on the persona of the Scarecrow many years later, so perhaps there had been another crime that had even still gone under the radar.

The old woman had died when Jonathan was only 18 years old. If he had committed another murder even before _then_ and had gotten away with it, perhaps Crane was more dangerous than he’d initially thought.

Edward looked over to the man in question and saw that Jonathan was already looking at him. They made eye contact for a split second before Edward immediately looked away.

He wondered what was on Jonathan’s mind… and he hoped to find out.

  
_________________________________________________________________________

  
  
Back in their cell, Edward sat on his bed, turned away from Jonathan and reading a book. He could feel Jonathan’s eyes on him, and he knew the other man was insatiably curious as to just what had happened in group therapy that day. Edward hoped to avoid any uncomfortable questions by ignoring Crane altogether.

It seemed Edward would be sorely disappointed.

He heard Jonathan take a deep breath. “Were you telling the truth when you said you’d killed your father because you thought he was in the way?” Jonathan began nonchalantly.

“I’ve already said all there is to say about it, Crane,” Edward snapped without taking his eyes off his book, “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“Does talking about your father make you uncomfortable?” Jonathan asked.

“...No…” Edward mumbled. Jonathan couldn’t see him outwardly cringe.

“I don’t believe you.”

Edward finally looked up at Jonathan’s bluntness. “In what way was your father ‘in the way,’ as you claim? Even despite your clear disorderly mental state, I can’t imagine you would have killed him were he a good father. Was he a good father, Edward?” Jonathan prodded.

“Good or not, my father meant nothing to me,” Edward seethed, “And as for your thinly veiled insult, every decision I have made in my life, including the choice to cut my father out of the picture, has been perfectly thought out and _reasonable_ because there is _nothing wrong with me!_ ”

“Again, another lie,” Jonathan observed, “Have you noticed that you have pathological issues when it comes to telling the truth?”

Edward quickly stood up, knocking his book onto the floor. He pointed a finger at Jonathan. “I am NOT A LIAR!” Edward yelled rather childishly, were he to admit that to himself. “My riddles and my traps and my puzzles, while incredibly difficult, are _always_ solvable and _always_ have a right answer. I do NOT lie. And I do NOT cheat!”

“I never said anything about cheating,” Jonathan said calmly. He paused for a moment. “I… believe I’ve heard you mention cheating before… at the bank.” Edward had hoped he wouldn’t mention that. “Yes, while under the influence of my fear toxin. Why is the thought of cheating so important to you, Edward?”

Edward crossed his arms. “No one likes being accused of cheating, Crane.”

“Perhaps, but from what I’ve heard, you’ve taken that to almost an obsessive extent. Why?”

“I am under no obligation to talk to you, Crane!” And yet Edward still was. Why couldn’t he just control himself?

Jonathan’s expression changed. He knew he’d caught something, and he latched on to it.

“What was it, Eddie? Daddy issues? It almost always is.” Jonathan gave a horrible grin. “He hit you, didn’t he? And even though he’s long gone by your own doing, you live every day still craving his approval.”

“No, I--” Edward stuttered. He was completely caught off guard by Jonathan’s change in attitude. Why was he acting so cruel all of a sudden?

“Yes, Edward. You crave everyone’s approval, and you know why? Because you’re a failure, Edward -- inferior in every possible way -- and you know it.”

For once, Edward was speechless.

  
Jonathan then gestured to himself with an open hand. “It was effortless on my part to turn you back into a cowering little boy, and I could’ve done it just as easily without even needing my fear toxin. You're weak, Edward, and you will never be able to hide what you really are. _You can never run from your deepest fears._ ”     
  
Edward was almost shaking, he was so livid. Embarrassingly, he could feel tears stinging the backs of his eyes. He was a self-proclaimed genius, and while many thought it was just for show, he could prove his intelligence. With great effort, he pushed it down, and instead gave Jonathan an awful sneer.   
  
“Well, two can play at that game, Crane.” he hissed. “That Georgian accent you seem so desperate to hide? You're just as ashamed of your own past as I am: trying to hide the fact that you’re just poor, white trash. The professor, trying to run from the Southern stereotype of an ignorant hick.”     
  
Jonathan’s jaw clenched, but he continued to stare at Edward, unblinking.   
  
Edward continued, “You’re so very far from home, Crane. I’ll bet all the kids used to laugh at you. Called you Scarecrow, didn’t they? And I’ll bet you hated it. The scrawny little boy, desperate to get out! To get anywhere! To get all the way to Gotham City.” Edward took a calming breath, his voice returning to normal. “You’re just trying to reclaim an old insult, it seems. Kids always seem to know how to get you just where it hurts the most... Why are you so obsessed with fear, Crane? Still that scared, scorned boy?”

Before Edward could continue, Jonathan lashed out at him, grabbing Edward by the collar of his shirt and slamming his head against the wall. Edward was unconscious the second his head made contact with the cold, solid surface.

It all ended quickly. Jonathan simply left Edward lying on the floor and went back to his reading. He ignored the guards as best he could as they came running once they heard the commotion in their cell. Jonathan was lifted off his bed and escorted away, likely to solitary. One of the guards at his side called in for a nurse on his two-way radio.

Hopefully, he and Edward would remain separated, but their dislike of one another could not change the fact that Arkham was too dysfunctional to have the cell space for that.

Therefore, Jonathan knew he would have to face the music sooner or later.

__________________________________________________________________________

 

It had been nearly a month since the fight in their cell. Jonathan and Edward had, in fact, been kept separate, but all good things must come to an end. Jonathan had been returned back from solitary a few days earlier, and Edward had yet to speak to him again. Edward only stayed in their cell when absolutely necessary, and when he did, he either read or wrote out series of numbers in chalk on the walls and floor.

It seemed that Edward had had enough of keeping silent when he finally spoke to Jonathan for the first time in weeks, “You look awful.”

“Hello to you, too, Edward,” Jonathan sighed.

“I guess solitary took a toll on you, eh, Jonathan?” Edward sneered. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe you should think twice before knocking me over the side of the head.”

Jonathan did not answer, but Edward continued, anyway. “But no matter. I’ll be out of here soon.”

He clearly wanted to get a reaction out of Jonathan. However, Jonathan was his calm, collected self as ever. “Edward, I will always enjoy knocking you out if it gets me peace and quiet. However you plan on leaving, I look forward to it.”

Edward frowned. He was hoping that Jonathan would ask what his plan was. After all, Edward enjoyed showing off his skills as the master escape artist that he was. “Well, if you want to wait it out until the next breakout occurs, that’s fine with me, but… the other rogues have always been thankful to have allied with me. I always get them out quick and easy."

“I want nothing to do with you, Edward.”

Edward smirked as he got up and wandered toward the cell door. “Is that so? Well, then I’ll just have to leave you be.” In a display of his skills, he pulled a bent paperclip out from his jumpsuit, slid his hand out from between the bars, and unlocked the door with quick ease.

Edward was out the door and swiftly shutting it before Jonathan could make a move. From the other side of the bars, Edward gave Jonathan a cheeky grin and a petty little wave. “Have a nice day, Crane!”

Jonathan watched Edward as he waltzed off and grumbled to himself. He should’ve known that allying himself with Nygma was his best way out of here, but he was reluctant to do so. The man was intolerable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone happened to notice, I think my writing style was just a little bit different in this one (at least in the form of structure). I mentioned in the comments of the last chapter that I had actually written Chapter 4 FIRST, then went back to write the first three chapters. Before I began writing this fic, I had vaguely planned out what I wanted to do with each chapter, and I guess I was just very inspired to write what was going to happen here. Kind of half-assed it in the end, though. 
> 
> Hopefully, Chapter 5 will be up by next Sunday :) Thank you for all the comments


	5. House of Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan and Edward are finally starting to warm up to one another.  
> "Perhaps he isn't so bad, after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been the shortest of them so far. I'm sure I could have made it longer, but I've felt awful the last week or so and I was just like "get this DONE" I'll try and make up for it next chapter.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Sorry about the formatting.

Edward heard the mumbling of a friendly voice and saw a familiar face waddling through the breakfast line.

“Oswald!” Edward laughed happily and got up to give the Penguin a very jovial hug. 

“No touching!” a guard yelled from the opposite side of the cafeteria. Ignoring the guard, Edward let go of Oswald once he’d hugged him. Looking at his face, Edward noticed that the glass bottle he’d cut into a makeshift monocle was cracked. 

Despite the animosity between Edward and Jonathan, it had lessened in the last couple of months, and several of the other rogues that had been locked away with them that Edward could consider friends had been released. That meant that Edward was left to make friends with Jonathan. Edward always felt like the Asylum was like a highschool with its various cliques, and Edward could not afford to look like he had no one to talk to. Jonathan had become his substitute, so Edward was thankful to have Oswald here. 

He got his food and Edward invited Oswald to sit with him and Jonathan. 

“So how’s it been, Oswald? Any news?” Edward asked. Cobblepot had a larger network than even Edward, and was one of his biggest sources for information.

“No, nothin’ like that.” Oswald said, “But just last night, the Batman followed one of my refrigeration trucks all the way to the docks and destroyed a whole shipment! I’ll be set back for months ‘cause of him…” 

Edward gestured to his face, “And I’m assuming the Bat did that to you, too?”

Oswald’s face was pinched. “Yeah. I’m gonna bury that flying rat the next time I see ‘im.” he said. 

“Speaking of your shipments…” Jonathan cut in, “Do you supply more than just guns?”

Oswald lit up a cigar, likely given to him by one of his dirty security guards. “What’s it to you, Scarecrow, eh? Lookin’ to do business?”

“That depends on your answer.” 

Oswald looked him up and down, puffing away at his cigar. “Well, I can deal all sorts. What might you be interested in?” 

“For one thing, I need some concentrated chemicals. If it means I can get them cheaper, I wouldn’t mind them being… less than sterile.” Jonathan said. “I also need to speak with someone who’d be able to make me more dispersal devices.” 

Before Oswald could reply, and before he had even thought it through, Edward said, “You’re sitting right next to one, Jonathan.” 

They both looked at him. “One what, Edward?” Jonathan asked.

He scoffed, “Well, an expert in mechanics, you moron! I could think up a dozen ways to release your toxin right now!” 

Oswald laughed. “He’s got you there, Strawman. More talented than anyone I could give you.” 

Edward warmed at the praise from his old friend, but Jonathan seemed unconvinced. “I’d rather form a working relationship with someone I don’t have to share a cell with,” he said. 

“Look, Crane,” Edward began, “I’m an authority figure on this. And I’d be willing to do it basically for free except for one, small condition.” 

“And what would that be?” asked Jonathan.

“The formula to your fear toxin.” 

“ _ No _ .” Jonathan said instantly. “That is out of the question.” 

“Come  _ on _ !” Edward insisted, “It’s perfectly reasonable! If I know all the details, it will help me create dispersal methods at full capacity! I wouldn’t even share it with anyone.”

“How kind of you, Edward. But I can hardly believe that when you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut for more than three seconds at a time.” Jonathan said. 

“Okay, how about -- instead of the formula -- just a vial of fear toxin concentrate?” Edward amended. 

“I have a better idea,” Jonathan began, “Instead of a vial full, I give you a  _ face  _ full as soon as I’m able to make some more. That’s my most generous offer.” 

Edward shuddered, remembering his last “face full” of fear toxin. He gave up, knowing he wouldn’t get what he wanted no matter how hard he pushed. “I’ll take cash. We can discuss price more in-depth once I know exactly what you’re looking for.” Edward sighed. 

“Sounds like we have a deal, Mr. Nygma.” As a business habit, the two rogues shook hands on it. 

The Penguin had watched the quick negotiation with an amused smile on his face. “And as for those chemicals, Scarecrow, you just tell me what it is you need, and I’ll have one of my boys write you up a quote.” 

The rest of their breakfast continued in relative silence. 

_____________________________________________________________

 

Edward was being escorted to his therapist’s office. The one-on-one sessions were loathsome, to say the least, but Edward usually amused himself by talking circles around Dr. Wilson until she was dizzy. She just never could seem to be able to solve his riddles. She was also the only doctor at Arkham that had the patience to listen to him for hours. She probably thought that she could pull something meaningful out of his daily rants. 

However, she’d lately begun trying to talk to him about things no other doctor had attempted to before, and he hated to say that it made him uncomfortable. Well, all save for one Dr. Brooks. All the psychologists in the past wanted to know the details of his crimes, how he did them, and why. But surprisingly, none had ever thought to ask about his father. Dr. Brooks and Dr. Wilson were known to be good work friends, so it would not surprise Edward in the least if she were the source for this sudden interest. 

Over the last few sessions, Edward had gotten good at dodging her prodding questions. But this most recent session was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“Edward, how are you?” Dr. Wilson smiled. She gestured for Edward to sit down. 

When Edward gave no response, she started flipping through her notes. “Let’s get right into it, shall we? Last we left off, you mentioned that you don’t care about your father. Why was that, Edward?” 

“You tell me, Julia. I’m one of the most dangerous inmates in this asylum. Would it not be easy to assume that I am, in fact, a psychopath?” Edward said. 

Edward scowled, as Dr. Wilson gave a small laugh when he’d said “dangerous.” “You’re not a psychopath Edward. And even though you have mental issues that we’d like to help you fix, you have never shown a  _ complete _ lack of remorse.” 

“Beg your pardon?” Edward asked. He genuinely was confused as to why she’d assume he felt no remorse. He could recall no instance in which he’d shown any. 

“Everyone, including our patients, hold the false belief that they know themselves better than we do. There’s a reason people should not diagnose themselves, Edward. It  _ must  _ take an outside eye to properly identify and diagnose symptoms,” Dr. Wilson continued, “Those most remorse you feel is directed towards yourself, Edward. You hate that you must leave riddles behind at crimes scenes. It’s simply a symptom of your OCD, but that lack of control scares you. It--”

“No it DOESN’T!” Edward shouted, suddenly angry. “I am not afraid! Why would I call myself ‘The Riddler’ if I hated my riddles so much? Hmm?” 

Dr. Wilson sighed, “Not that I meant to take the conversation in this direction, but while you dislike not having a choice over leaving clues behind that lead to your frequent arrests, puzzles and riddles still hold great significance to you, which is why you began using them in the first place, no?”

Edward sat back in his chair. “I’ve loved puzzles ever since I was a child.”

“And you clearly got very good at them,” said Dr. Wilson. 

Before he’d thought it through, Edward said, “Not everyone thought so…” 

Dr. Wilson started at the new information. “Oh?” she said, prompting him to continue. 

“My father would always get angry with me because he thought I cheated,” Edward explained. “I didn’t, but he couldn’t believe that someone like him could raise a son that was as smart as I was.” 

“Most parents would be proud to have such an intelligent child. Why do you think he immediately assumed that you’d cheat?” Dr. Wilson asked. 

“ _BECAUSE HE WAS JEALOUS!”_ Edward cried, “But it never gave him the right to treat me that way, ever!”

“He was abusive towards you.” Dr. Wilson guessed.

“He was an alcoholic lowlife that got what he deserved.” Edward snapped. 

“And so you… beat him to death?” 

Edward’s whole body shook, as did his voice, “Yes.” 

Warm tears rolled down his cheeks as Dr. Wilson wrote everything she’d heard down in the report. Edward knew he’d never be hearing the end of it. 

____________________________________________________________

 

Edward slowly finished drawing the last line of the number two, completing the equation. His conversation with Dr. Wilson had triggered yet another one of his mental breakdowns last night, and with a lack of anything to draw with, he’d taken to using his own blood. The tip of his index finger felt raw after scraping it against the cement wall of the cell all night. Looking up, his entire side of the cell was covered in bloody numbers and symbols, and even a couple of riddles he’d written off the top of his head. The one wall on the opposite side of the cell where Jonathan slept was the only one that remained untouched. There were a couple of patches of dried up blood on the walls where he mindlessly stroked his finger up and down, watching the wall stain red. 

Edward used blood from his pricked finger alone, and he’d been so out of it, he couldn’t recall feeling any pain from the exercise. Looking down, though, his finger really had been rubbed raw, and his nail was cracked and bloodied. Some of the grout from the cell wall had been ground into his finger. Edward frowned, knowing it would likely be infected if he didn’t go to the infirmary. 

He sat cross-legged on the cold, stone floor. He still felt a little out of it. In an attempt to ground himself, Edward leaned forward and rested his forehead on the cool floor. It was insanely early in the morning -- around 3:00 am -- and he finally closed his sore eyes for the first time in what felt like days. The only light in the cell came from the dull fluorescent light that hung in the hallway. The asylum did not have a properly functioning A/C system, and Edward could feel the cold air seeping through his jumpsuit and settling into his bones. For once, though, Edward was thankful for the flaw. 

Edward stayed there on the floor for the next few hours, focusing on controlling his breathing. He only looked up when he heard the rustling of bedsheets coming from behind him and a soft “Holy shit.” 

Staying on the floor, Edward turned his head to look at his cellmate. Jonathan sat at the edge of his bed, scanning the walls with wide eyes. He finally laid his eyes on Edward and was looking at him as though he’d finally lost it. It seemed he was waiting for Edward to break the silence. 

Edward was the first to break eye contact. For once in his life, it seemed he was in no mood to talk. He slowly stood up on shaky legs and made his way to his own bed. Jonathan’s eyes followed him as Edward curled up in his bed, facing away from him, and tightly wrapped the thin blanket around himself. They both stayed in their place -- Edward staring blankly at the wall while Jonathan tried to decipher his writings -- until the guards began banging on the cell doors for all the inmates to get up. 

Jonathan looked over to see Edward staring down at his feet in silence, probably a million miles away.

_____________________________________________________________

 

Jonathan stood in line, waiting to pick up his meds along with several of the other patients. Reaching the window, Jonathan lazily gave his name to the pharmacist behind the counter and received his dosage for the day in a plastic portion cup. _ Fluoxetine, Neurontin, Zolpidem…  _ He always just threw them away. 

Edward often did, too, claiming that he didn’t need any help. But Edward hadn’t been acting like himself lately... 

At the thought of the egomaniacal man, Jonathan looked over to the cafeteria table where Edward sat. Edward was mindlessly picking at the rubbery pancakes on his tray, the small plastic cup of his own prescriptions sitting next to it. 

Seeming to sense Jonathan’s gaze, Edward looked up at him for a moment before dumping his pills into his hand and swallowing them dry. He then went back to moving his food around on his plate with his plastic spork. The tip of his index finger had a bandage wrapped around it. 

It had been several days since Jonathan had woken up to the walls of his cell covered in blood, and Edward had not said a word to him since. Jonathan had not been afraid, seeing Edward curled up on the floor of their cell -- Edward had a very unthreatening demeanor -- but if Jonathan were honest with himself, he was at least… mildly concerned. He had no idea what had caused Edward to begin acting this way. 

He at least had the feeling that it wasn’t his fault. He knew that those things he’d said to Edward months ago were cruel, to say the least, but that was  _ months ago,  _ and Edward had seemed fine (if not a little put out) in the days following. And even though Edward wasn’t currently speaking to him, he wasn’t speaking to  _ anyone,  _ and still always sat next to him. 

Jonathan got his breakfast and sat across from Edward. Like all the days before, they simply sat in silence, Jonathan watching and hoping to see if Edward would try to make conversation like he used to. 

It wasn’t until that night that Edward finally spoke up.

It was late, and all the inmates were in their cells. Across the hall, the Mad Hatter and Two-Face were sharing a cell. Outside of the asylum, Dent would have immediately strangled Jervis to death were they forced to share a room, but Harvey was actually one of the most diligent patients when it came to taking his meds, so he’d been quite calm. 

Jervis was surely asleep, but Harvey could still be heard shuffling a deck of cards. The doctors at Arkham were attempting to help him get over his fixation on duality by weaning him off his coin and onto a die. They’d then moved him on to a pack of tarot cards. A good idea on the doctors’ part, but left with so many options, Harvey’s personality was beginning to slowly unravel. 

It’s easier to see the world in black and white, but as Harvey was beginning to realize, a world filled with shades of gray was far too difficult a world to live in. 

Edward had seemed sympathetic, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. 

Harvey then began talking to himself. His whispers ricocheting against the walls of the cavernous hallway.

“The moon is so beautiful,” he said. 

“What the fuck?” mumbled some thug down the hallway, clearly also unable to sleep. 

Jonathan didn’t know if Harvey had heard the man, but he continued on, anyway. “It’s a big silver dollar, flipped by God. And it landed on the scarred side up, see? So he made the world.” 

“ _ Jesus Christ!  _ You’re all  _ insane _ .” the unknown inmate said. 

“Would you  _ shut up?  _ You’re in here with the rest of us.” The man’s cellmate grumbled. 

The cell block descended back into silence after that, but both Jonathan and Edward were still sitting on their beds, wide awake. Edward was hugging his knees, seeming to be contemplating something. 

“Dr. Wilson forced me to talk about my father last week,” Edward whispered. 

_ It seems like those drugs are getting to him…  _ Jonathan thought.

“Forced you? It’s not like she could reach in and pull out that information with forceps like it’s some sort of parasitic worm.” Jonathan couldn’t help saying. He mentally kicked himself as he watched Edward close back up and look away. 

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said after a moment, trying to amend the situation.

He was rewarded as Edward turned to fully face him, desperate to say his piece. “My father treated me like garbage all my life,” Edward explained, “but I killed him.  _ I  _ did. And ever since I’ve tried to forget him completely. But Dr. Brooks and Dr. Wilson just… pushed.”

Jonathan nodded, trying to get him to go on. 

“Most days, I think these doctors are hurting more than they’re helping,” Edward lamented, “Honestly, it wouldn’t have even taken their questioning to get me thinking about him.”

Edward laughed humorlessly, “The only way to genuinely make me forget him would be a lobotomy, I think.”  

Jonathan could only keep nodding. He feared that if he spoke again, he would snap Edward out of this spell he seemed to be in. 

“Harvey is right. It’s a shit world we live in, and we all got the worst of it.” With that, Edward turned away from Jonathan and lay back down, not saying a word for the rest of the night. Jonathan stayed awake all night, looking over at Edward, and contemplating.  

_____________________________________________________________

 

The next day, Edward seemed to be getting back to his old self again. During their free time in the rec room, Edward invited Jonathan to a game of chess. 

“I’m assuming you’ve played before. Haven’t you, Jonathan?” Edward asked. 

“Of course I have. I can’t guess why you’d even bother asking,” said Jonathan. He moved to sit in the plastic chair across from Edward as the shorter man set up the board. 

Jonathan had not mentioned their short, one-sided conversation from last night. He had the feeling that Edward would avoid opening himself up to him in the future if he was just going to rub it in. Jonathan understood Edward’s situation very well, and had decided to accept it for what it was. 

Edward took black and Jonathan took white. Jonathan was patient and took his time deciding on where each piece should go while Edward moved like they were being timed, likely trying to impress him. He’d never played against Edward personally, but Jonathan had heard from Harvey that chess games with Edward could still take hours and even days, spreading over multiple rec room sessions. 

Within the first fifteen minutes of the game, Jonathan knew that he was royally screwed over. He could clearly foresee the moves that would be made throughout the remainder of the game, and his loss was guaranteed, regardless of whatever he tried. He was in no mood to continue a fated game that did not sway in his favor, so Jonathan made the decision to resign.

“What?” Edward asked, confused. “Why did you do that? The game’s not over!” 

“Why would I keep going if my failure at the end is inevitable?” Jonathan inquired. 

“ _ Why!? _ ” Edward sputtered. “It’s the game that matters, not the outcome.”

“That’s surprising, coming from you,” Jonathan said. 

Edward leaned back, crossing his arms. “And why is that?” 

“You hate losing, Edward. More than anything.” Jonathan said. “You’re the  _ definition _ of a sore loser.”

“I  _ am  _ self-aware, Crane. I know that nine times out of ten, I’m going to lose against Batman. But I do it anyway. Do you know why?” Edward asked.

Jonathan decided to indulge him. “I do not.”  

“I genuinely enjoy what I do, and I will continue to do it, and if I happen to win once or twice, then I  _ win _ . And that’s it.” Edward said. “You know, Jonathan… we’re a lot more alike than you’d like to believe.” 

“Is that so?” Jonathan drawled. 

Pulling a single, slightly bent up cigarette from his jumpsuit, Edward struck a match against the sole of his shoe and placed the lit cigarette between his lips, leaning closer to Jonathan conspiratorially. 

“We are opposites… but we are also the same. Like two sides of a mirror.” said Edward. “We. hate. people. And people, in turn, hate us.”

Edward leaned back again. “Even when we’d first met, I’d hoped we’d get along. It’s a shame you’re so abrasive.” 

Jonathan grunted, not giving Edward an audible response. What he’d said had struck a chord with him, but the moment was once again ruined when Edward had decided to also throw in an insult. 

“You know,” Edward continued on anyway, “I’m starting to grow bored. I’m planning a breakout sometime soon. You could get out of here, too, and I could start the work on those things you wanted.”

Jonathan sighed. “Fine. Please just give me a heads up…” he asked. Edward smiled at that. 

The guards called for everyone to return back to their cells. Jonathan tipped his king and walked ahead of Edward, enough so so that he would not have to listen to Edward’s chatter all the way back to their cell block. 

Jonathan felt something he couldn’t explain, then. He had a bad feeling about it. 

Oh God. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I'm so mean to Edward all the time. 
> 
> At this point, I'd reckon Edward and Jonathan have known each other for well over two years. They've officially reached "partners in crime" status, but I would not yet call them friends. We're getting there, though, I promise. 
> 
> I was going to put Jervis into this chapter. He'd have been in Arkham for trying to kidnap a young girl. I decided against it last minute, though. 
> 
> Also, while I certainly wish I'd come up with this on my own, the scene with Harvey was taken out of the Arkham Asylum comic, written by Grant Morrison and illustrated by Dave McKean (one of my favorite comic artists btw). Harvey's quote is one of my favorites ever. The whole "two sides of a mirror" thing is a quote from Peaky Blinders.
> 
> Edward and Jonathan will be out of Arkham soon, and as of yet, I have no plans of sending them back there for the rest of this fic. I was sorely tempted to make reference to comedian Ali Siddiq's "Prison Riot" story. Something like Edward going "Does the riot?? Happen in here???" Please watch it and just imagine fucking Edward on his first day at Arkham. That's all I ask. 
> 
> Thank you.


	6. Puzzle Cube

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Edward and Jonathan break out and Jonathan has to learn how to live with Edward without strangling him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh uhh it's finally here. I had the worst case of writer's block EVER for this chapter, but this morning I decided to bite the bullet and crank this fucker out in a single say so... that's what happened.

3 days earlier

_ “This call will be recorded and monitored.  _

_ Hello, this is a prepaid collect call from ...*static*...,  an inmate at Arkham Asylum and Penitentiary. To accept charges, please press… one. To refuse charges, thank you for using—“ _

_ *click* _

“Going a more morally correct route, Eddie?”

_ “I’m going the easiest route, Selina. You know they don’t actually monitor these,” _ said Edward. 

“So what do you want?” Selina asked bluntly. 

_ “It’s high time I get out of here, and I’m in no mood to attempt to work my way out from the inside,”  _ Edward said. 

“And what makes you think I  _ want  _ to help you?” Selina leaned against her kitchen counter, twirling the telephone cord around her finger. 

_ “Selina, sweetheart, you are my closest -- and most trustworthy -- contact on the outside. The plan is simple enough and you know I always pay you back--”  _

“Doesn’t really answer my question. Why… should I help you?” Selina asked sweetly. She might make the effort to bust Edward out, but she always enjoyed teasing him. 

_ “...Because you love me?”  _ Edward asked hopefully. 

Selina sighed. “Tell me what you have in mind, and I will  _ think  _ about it.” 

_ “Alright. So, here’s the deal…”  _

 

Present

The plan was simple enough. Certainly a lot easier than that riot he’d organized to bust Query and Echo out. Selina didn’t even have to move a muscle, after all. She just had to make a few phone calls. She had to work fast, though, because while calls coming in or out of Arkham weren’t  _ monitored,  _ they still were recorded, and soon enough security would notice that Edward had made an unscheduled call. 

The fastest and simplest way to get out of Arkham was when patients were occasionally transferred. If a patient was scheduled for, say, an MRI, that was more complicated than what the infirmary had to offer, so the patient would be moved via a secure vehicle to the nearest hospital. Edward realized long ago that that ride between locations was the weakest link, and had decided to use that to his advantage. 

A significant number of Arkham’s staff were on his payroll, as were a few of the doctors at the hospital down the road. All Selina had to do was call ‘em up on Edward’s behalf, and the next thing you know, Edward is in the back of a van, passing through Arkham’s gates and one step away from freedom. While a long time in the making, it was a simple, clean-cut plan. He could only pull this trick once in a blue moon, though, otherwise the Arkham staff would catch on. They were very, very stupid. 

The hard part was pulling Jonathan into the mix. One inmate needing a medical examination was no big deal, but two, at the same time, from the same  _ cell  _ was much more suspicious. Selina seemed to have been able to pull some strings, though, and Edward wasn’t going to question it. Though he cringed slightly when he realized that Selina would be expecting even higher payment for the extra effort on her part. 

Jon and Edward were already in the back of the van. They were cuffed at the wrists and ankles with a long chain connecting the two sets. A guard was up front driving while another sat in the back with the two of them. Edward was unconcerned, though, as he’d paid them both off. 

As soon as they’d passed the security gates, the guard which sat across from them reached over and unlocked their cuffs. Edward rubbed at his wrists, happy to finally be free of them. The guard then leaned down to pull Edward’s and Jonathan’s confiscated things out from under the seat. Some of Jonathan’s items included a few fear toxin bombs that he’d had on him when he was apprehended, and Edward looked over at him nervously.  _ “Don’t you  _ dare _ try and inject our security with fear toxin,” _ he recalled telling Jonathan before they’d left. 

_ “Why not? If we’re already out, it doesn’t matter what happens to them,” _ Jonathan had said. 

_ “God, you don’t know anything about networking, do you? It’s  _ assurance _. It’s a  _ mutual relationship _. They aren’t going to want to work with me ever again if they feel betrayed! I’ll lose my connections!” _

Edward and Jonathan changed out of their orange jumpsuits and into their costumes. Edward breathed a sigh of relief as he was finally able to wear his green suit once more. The bright orange of the uniform gave him a headache. He thought about actually taking the jumpsuit home with him just so he could set it on fire as an act of defiance. 

At some midway point between the asylum and the hospital, the van pulled over into a small, empty cul de sac that was hidden from the view of anyone who might pass by. The driver got out to open the van’s back doors from the outside. Edward jumped out of the vehicle and stretched. The cool night air was a relief. Escape had really been that easy. 

The driver handed Edward a set of keys that did not belong to the van, but belonged to the car that was parked on the other side of the road. His car had been waiting for him here, and Edward unlocked it to pull wads of cash out from the hole he’d cut into one of the chairs for safe keeping. 

Edward paid the guards, but their job was not quite done. They had to wait around for a bit until they could go back to the asylum to tell the director that he and Jonathan had escaped from the hospital. It gave them time to escape while also ensuring that the guards would likely not be fired. They had not been  _ let go,  _ but had slipped out during their medical examinations. 

Edward got into the driver’s side while Jonathan climbed into the passenger seat. Edward started the car and drove off, leaving behind the security vehicle and the two security officers.

“So…” Jonathan began, speaking for the first time in nearly an hour, “...That’s it?” 

“What do you mean ‘that’s it?’” Edward asked.    

“It was that simple? We didn’t have to do anything.” 

“Correction:  _ you  _ didn’t have to do anything. It was actually nearly a year of building rapports and organizing a plan for me,” said Edward. 

“Was it worth it, though? I get that it’s easier once the time comes, but could you not have just broken out yourself?” Jonathan asked. 

“Breaking out from the inside is quicker, but security is immediately on alert and then I’ve got to  _ run, _ ” Edward explained. “With this plan, we could have a couple of hours before anyone catches on. By then we could already be settled in back at our hideouts…. That reminds me… do you have a place to go?” Edward asked. He knew of Jonathan’s hideout at the old office building, but he couldn’t just tell him that. 

“Umm… no.” Jonathan said, almost sheepishly. 

That answer startled Edward. Why would he say that? Edward sighed. He didn’t think this was a good idea at all, but he couldn’t leave the man  _ homeless _ , could he? 

“...You could… stay with me, if you’d like…” Edward offered. 

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “With you?” he asked incredulously. 

“Well, even if you did have a place to stay, I can’t imagine it would be very nice,” said Edward. “Besides, we’ve got that project you wanted me to work on. Would it not be easier to just… have you there?” 

“I suppose…” said Jonathan. 

“Great!” Edward chirped. “Sounds like a plan.”

And they sped off. 

____________________________________________________________

 

Jonathan didn’t know what he was expecting when he entered Edward’s apartment. Perhaps a garish, kitschy interior in entirely various shades of green, but definitely not this.  

The apartment was quite modern and luxurious. The moody space featured a palette of deep emerald green tones with black & gold accents and a dark plum velvet. The floor and countertops looked to be black marble. Dotted around the apartment were striking (and of course stolen) museum pieces. However, Edward did have green tinted light fixtures installed around the room, but as Jonathan loathed to admit it, it… genuinely suited the space. He was impressed. 

Jonathan currently possessed nothing but the clothes on his back. He stood in the doorway awkwardly. He’d long ago stopped caring what others thought of him, but standing there in his straw and burlap costume, Jonathan couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of being out of place, as though if he touched anything, it would break or wither. 

Edward, on the other hand, was moving all over the place. He threw his coat onto one of the chairs and went to pour himself a drink. “I always need one of these after spending months in that hellhole,” said Edward.

Edward then moved back to the living room and threw himself onto the Italian leather sofa like some kind of Machiavellian prince. “Are you going to sit down or something?” Edward asked, motioning to Jonathan. 

Instead of taking up the offer, Jonathan asked, “You’re not worried I’m going to dirty your $3000 loveseat?” 

Edward laughed. “It was only $1500, but perhaps you’re right. There’s a small guest bathroom down the short hallway to your right. Please… take a shower. I’ve only got one bedroom, so you’ll have to sleep on the couch. I’ll show you where the sheets and blankets are once you get out.” 

“Couch is probably nicer than anything I’ve ever slept on…” Jonathan mumbled and went to find the bathroom. He felt incredibly tired and incredibly dirty after escaping Arkham, and he was very much looking forward to cleaning himself up and getting some sleep.

The bathroom was just as luxurious as the rest of the apartment. It was the same black marble and malachite as the other room. The soft towels were also a cool green with Edward’s initials embroidered on them in gold thread. Jonathan had to roll his eyes at Edward’s hedonism. 

Before Jonathan could take his costume off, though, he heard a knock at the bathroom door.

“Um… You don’t have anything to wear besides that costume, do you?” Edward’s voice was muffled on the other side of the door. 

Jonathan hadn’t thought of that.

“If I had anything else to wear, Edward, I’d be wearing it,” said Jonathan. 

“Uh huh. I don’t think I have any clothes to spare,  _ certainly  _ none that would fit you, but I guess I’ll have to look,” said Edward.

“Guess so,” was all Jonathan could think to say. He did  _ not  _ want to wear Edward’s clothes, but he also didn’t want to have to put back on the Scarecrow costume. It was itchy. And dirty. 

Jonathan opened the door back up again. The shower would have to wait until Edward could find him something to wear. Jonathan pulled off his hat and set it on the bathroom counter. He then bent down to pull off his shoes. 

Edward padded back in, holding a t-shirt and sweatpants. “I can’t believe I never got rid of these, but this is all I have, for now. Do you really not have  _ anything? _ ” 

“I might have a few pairs of clothes at one of my old hideouts, along with some of the things I need to produce my fear toxin. I never exactly stay in the same place,” Jonathan said. 

Edward sighed. “Just… go get it tomorrow. You really do need more clothes,” and then he left Jonathan be. 

____________________________________________________________

 

Jonathan walked out of the bathroom to see Edward on the couch in his pajamas. He was working in a sketchbook while the TV played in the background. It was switched to the news, where the female news anchor was reporting on Arkham’s two most recent escapees. 

Edward looked up at Jonathan from over the top of his glasses. He smiled and pointed the end of his pencil at the TV. “Look, Jonathan. We’re famous.” 

“For all the wrong reasons,” Jonathan added. He moved further into the living room and sat on the arm of one of the chairs. 

“‘All publicity is good publicity, as long as they spell your name right,’” Edward recited. He leaned back in his seat and gestured to the sketchbook. “So… that plan we’d been talking about a couple weeks ago. Want to tell me about it?”

“Edward, I’m exhausted,” Jonathan yawned. “It’s midnight. Can we not discuss this in the morning?”

“We could, but you could just… tell me what you’re looking for. It’ll only take a couple of minutes on your part,” said Edward. 

Jonathan rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Not right now. I just want to sleep.” 

Edward huffed but got up anyway. He picked up the remote and turned off the TV. “Fine. You can sleep here.” 

He then moved into the hallway and opened a small closet which held the sheets and blankets. Edward gestured to it, then turned to walk towards the bedroom. “I’ll let you make your bed,” he said and shut the door. 

Jonathan scowled and went to close the closet door. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he was exhausted. He was far too tired even to make up the couch, so Jonathan instead chose to just grab the throw blanket and collapse onto the couch. And that was how he fell asleep.

_______________________________________________________________

 

Jonathan awoke to the sound of silverware clattering in the kitchen. It was practically still dark in the apartment, with the sun just peeking between Gotham’s skyscrapers. Jonathan winced as the small beam of golden light coming into the apartment seemed to be concentrated and shining directly into his eyes. He turned and lifted his head above the back of the couch to squint at Edward. 

“Aren’t you tired?” Jonathan grumbled. 

“Kind of,” Edward said in a perky voice. He was still wearing his pajamas. “But I’m up when the sun is, I’m afraid. I can’t sleep if it’s light outside.” 

Jonathan groaned quietly and laid back down. His eyes ached, and he had an awful migraine, but he was already up. He just looked at the ceiling as he waited for his mind to wake back up.

Edward’s face came into view as he leaned over the edge of the couch. “Coffee?” he asked. 

“Mm,” Jonathan hummed in affirmation. He’d shared a cell with Edward for months. Had he always been  _ this  _ annoyingly chirpy in the morning? Perhaps not, if Arkham insisted all inmates go to bed and wake up at the same time. 

“You said we could talk about that plan today,” Edward mentioned. 

“Why is this so important to you?” Jonathan asked.

“It’s not  _ important _ , I’m just… feeling very restless. It gives me something to do,” Edward said. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Black,” Jonathan answered. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then reached over to put on his glasses. 

Edward made a sound of disgust but set the mug of black coffee on the counter. Jonathan padded over and sat at one of the barstools. 

“I’m just looking to create new ways to disperse my toxin, is all,” Jonathan said. 

When Jonathan began to talk, Edward slid over a notepad and grabbed a pen. “What kinds do you have already?”

Jonathan began to list them off, “Injections, with the use of syringes, of course, the gas -- I’ve used grenades, aerosol cans, and just a tank full of it, I’ve coated straws and my costume in liquid so it could be absorbed through the skin… I even used a high-frequency emitter, once. But that technically wasn’t the toxin…” 

“What form of the toxin is the most effective?” Edward cut in. 

“The intravenous injections are the most effective, as it’s the most concentrated dose, but the gas is the most convenient because I don’t have to get so close.” Jonathan could feel himself getting excited, despite it being so early. 

Edward continued to write everything down. He waved a hand around vaguely. “The gas would definitely be the easiest form of dispersal, and the most likely to do the job,” said Edward. 

“Well, you’ve got the liquid and the gas. I can only assume you’ve tried pills, which would be very difficult to get a person to take, so that’s a no go.” Edward continued, “The gas is your best bet, I think. Any idea what you’d want these… bombs to look like?” 

“The emitter was shaped like a skull. For the gas, I once made one shaped like a crow, some looked like straw… Would pumpkins be too childish?” Jonathan asked. 

Edward shook his head disdainfully. “The straw was definitely your worst idea. And yes, Jonathan, jack ‘o lanterns are too childish. You need something… scarier. Or at least something more mature.” Edward tossed the notepad aside. “I’ll think about that more later. You’ve got a scythe, correct?” 

Jonathan nodded and took a sip of his coffee.

Edward chuckled. “Oh, man. I’m looking forward to testing these out, but I also want to check out some designs for your scythe. That weapon looks so inefficient…” 

Jonathan nodded again. “It’s quite heavy and unwieldy, yes.” 

Edward clapped his hands together. “Well, it seems like we’ve got some things to think about. And you better go out and find something else to wear today. Do you like grapefruit? You can have the other half of this--”

Jonathan swore. Some days Edward had such intense focus that he forgot to eat and sleep, and sometimes he had the attention span of a hummingbird. 

 

He really did have a lot to think about. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shortest chapter so far! Hooray... I gave up on 4000 words per chapter, which has its pros and cons.   
> I also feel like this got progressively more and more OOC the further it went, but I'm actually still quite happy with it. 
> 
> This story isn't really going the way I wanted it to go but it'll still work. I wanted them to kinda hate each other for a bit longer, and to not form a relationship until like... 10 years into knowing one another, but I'm SPEEDING IT UP. 
> 
> Random sidenote: Edward PROBABLY would have green/question mark everything, but I don't know, I just really like the idea of Edward driving a red car and wearing red & black plaid pajama pants with a black shirt. Cut the man a break and put some complementary colors in there. (Not only is red probably my favorite color, but the police see an iridescent green car with '???' as the license plate and Edward is caught in half a second. I know he wants a green car very badly but he's gotta be smarter than that)
> 
> That's it bye


	7. Battle of Egos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crying over spilled milk

Jonathan was on the couch and watching the news when Edward walked in. He threw his sketchbook onto the table loudly before pushing Jonathan’s legs off the table where they’d been lounging with his foot.

“My coffee table is clear glass, Jonathan, I don’t want you smudging or dirtying it,” said Edward as he sat down on the couch.

“I’m wearing socks,” Jonathan muttered.

Instead of answering, Edward reached over and picked up his sketchbook. He set it on his lap and opened it.

“After our discussion the other day, I made a few sketches and I wanted to know your thoughts on them,” he said.

He flipped to the first page where the designs were and handed it to Jonathan. Jonathan took the sketchbook and watched with disinterest as Edward pointed to each of the prototypes and explained them excitedly.

“I know we only talked fear toxin dispersal methods, but in my spare time, I also thought up some new costume and weapon designs,” Edward said. “True to my word, I stuck with your whole ‘Scarecrow’ thing and included some burlap, rope, and even threw in some crow feathers for aesthetic purposes.”

Jonathan just listened to him talk with a blank expression. Edward was waving his hands around animatedly as he talked.

Edward continued, “For the bombs, I made some out of metal with an inner contraption to release the toxin, but I personally thought that glass would be the most effective. They can look something like test tubes and beakers as a wink and a nod to the scientist in you, but throw them on the ground, and it releases the gas. Do you have any batches that can phase from liquid to gas just with exposure to oxygen?”

Edward waved a hand. “Anyway, I’m rambling. The biggest issue is that almost none of these options would be reusable. I didn’t much bother with that because it’s not like you could always go back to collect them up, right? Batman would confiscate them in a second.”

Jonathan just gave a small hum to indicate that he was actually still listening. The perk to having a conversation with Edward was that it was mostly one-sided. For the more introverted villains such as Jonathan, it was easier to just say one or two things and Edward would just carry the whole thing on his own. However, Edward was one of those kinds of people that just drained the energy out of a person just listening to him, like he was some form of vampire.

Edward, Lord have mercy, was still going. “As I mentioned, using a scythe as a weapon is incredibly inefficient. However, a sickle is very similar and much easier to use. It’s also still a farming tool, thank fuck for you. If you like the scythe for its distance, you could attach the sickle to the end of a long rope or chain -- swing it around. In my opinion, that’s even spookier, and-- are you even listening?”

Jonathan looked up. “I’m listening.”

“You’ve hardly said a word this whole time!” Edward said.

“It all looks… good,” Jonathan said dumbly. He might have actually zoned out a couple of times.

“Good.” Edward repeated. “ _Good!?_ That’s all you have to say?”

Jonathan shrugged. “What do you  _want_ me to say? Great? Amazing? Incredible?”

“What I _want_ is for you to actually be involved in this! What are your favorites? What are your least favorites? Why is that? Now, is that so hard?” Edward fumed.

Jonathan shook his head, mouth agape. “I-- I think they’re good. Why is that a bad answer? I don’t understand.”

Edward huffed and clenched his jaw. “Why can’t you just act interested for at least a second?” he griped.

“I’m just waiting for you to say something _interesting_ ,” Jonathan snapped.

Edward shook his head and got up. “Remember, you asked for this! I think it says a lot about you as a villain if you can’t bring yourself to care about your _own_ public image, is all.”

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. He leaned back and crossed his arms. “What are you on about?”

“ _Well_ ,” Edward began, “I show you my improved versions of your costumes, and you brush them off. I show you the weapon designs that _you’re paying me to make,_ and you don’t say anything about them one way or the other. You just don’t seem to care about your… _aesthetic --_ if you could even call it that.”

“Yes, I do. Clearly. Have you seen the costumes I’ve worn over the years?” Jonathan asked.

“Yes, and they’re atrocious. I’m trying to  _help you,”_ Edward said. He waved his arms at Jonathan to emphasize his point.

“Have you ever wondered that I might _like_ my costumes the way they are?” Jonathan asked. “Have you ever wondered that perhaps I don’t _want_ your help?”

Edward bristled. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Jonathan, but I’ve been  _quite_ gracious towards you. I helped you escape the asylum, I offered to help you on your project _at a discount,_ and I even -- very generously -- allowed you to stay in my apartment free of charge. Now, why would I do that?”

Jonathan stood so he could be eye-to-eye with Edward. “That’s a good question, Edward. Why _are_ you doing all this for me?”

Edward blinked for a moment. He didn’t know why he’d asked Jonathan that question because he also didn’t know the answer. He had to think on his feet.

Edward gave a half-hearted laugh. “Because… you’re an incredibly useful ally! Though I hate to admit it. Every kindness I do unto you I hope to have returned two-fold! You know I _will_ expect favors for all of this, don’t you?”

Jonathan blushed, his mouth set in a straight line. “If you’d informed me that this had been a part of some… _deal_ , never would have accepted. Perhaps I should just leave now before I start owing you any _more_ favors.”

Edward stammered for a moment. He’d really backed himself into a corner on this one. For some reason, he didn’t  _want_ Jonathan to leave. Perhaps it was just because he finally had someone to talk to that was even close to his intelligence level. Either way, he was taking far too long to respond…

“Where on Earth could you possibly go?” Edward asked. “You said you had no place else to stay, after all…”

Jonathan started to list options off on his fingers. “I could ask Jervis, I go out and find a _new_ hideout, I could--”

Edward held up a finger to silence him. “Wait… if you had all these choices, why did YOU tell ME that you had nowhere else to go?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.  

“Why would I purposefully choose a shithole if Gotham’s most infamous hedonist _offered_ me a place to stay?” Jonathan replied without hesitation.

They simply stared each other down after that, too lost for words but too proud not to stand their ground. Surprisingly, it was Edward who moved first.

“I don’t like your attitude, Jonathan, but since I’m so nice, you’re more than welcome to stay, anyway,” Edward said as he backed up in the direction of his bedroom door.

“You’re not my mother, Edward. Stop treating me like I’m some poor, hapless child,” said Jonathan.

“Fine,” was the last thing Edward said. He shrugged and walked away.

Jonathan watched as Edward shut his bedroom door a little harder than necessary. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Edward could be so childish, sometimes.  

Oh, well. He’d get over it soon enough.

_______________________________________________________

 

Jonathan was moving about in the kitchen, making himself coffee. Edward was not awake yet, which would’ve been surprising had it not been around four in the morning. Jonathan had not been able to sleep and had accepted the fact that he would be getting none at all a few hours ago. Jonathan tried to keep himself busy by reading or making himself something to eat, but he had to move about quietly in an attempt not to incur the wrath of a tired and grouchy Edward.  

Once Edward actually did awake, Jonathan had the feeling that Edward would not be happy with him doing as he pleased around the apartment. Edward seemed to be stuck between not wanting Jonathan to touch anything in his apartment without asking first and not wanting to feel like he was waiting on Jonathan hand and foot. The only thing that the both of them agreed on was that neither of them wanted Edward to cook for him like Jonathan was some toddler, so Jonathan decided to make himself comfortable and do as he pleased, regardless of Edward’s thoughts on the matter.

Jonathan poured himself a cup and sat at the kitchen bar. He sat there contemplating over a cooling mug of coffee until the sun slowly began to peek above the horizon a couple of hours later. As Edward had said himself, as long as the sun was up, he was, too. And sure enough, Edward was up bright and early, fully dressed for the day at only 7:00 am. He walked into the kitchen and seemed to wince at Jonathan’s exhausted state.

“Hello, Jonathan,” Edward chirped, “How are you this fine morning?”

Jonathan only grunted in response and rubbed at his face with both hands.

Edward frowned back at him and opened the fridge. He looked inside for a few moments before grabbing something from inside, shutting the door rather forcefully, and turning back to Jonathan.

“Jonathan, _how many times_ do I have to tell you not to do this!” Edward demanded. “If something is empty, you _throw it out,_ not put it back in the fridge!”

Edward shook the item in question as though to demonstrate to Jonathan that it was empty. “This milk is _done,_ so you _put it in the recycling bin,_ you moron _!_ ”

Jonathan slid off his chair and just shrugged at Edward. He was in no mood to fight over something so trivial. “I leave it in there to remind you we need more.”

“Jonathan… God--” Edward pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s a good idea!” Jonathan argued.

Edward just looked at him, holding the carton limply in one hand. “ _No…_ it makes me believe we _have_ milk so I _don’t_ buy milk the next time I’m at the market, halfwit.”

Jonathan was starting to get angry. He glared at Edward and pointed a finger. “Cease with the insulting names, Edward, or you’ll regret it.”

Edward scoffed. “Dumbass…” he said childishly.

Jonathan was done.  

He grabbed the back of the chair behind him with both hands and swung it at Edward. Edward quickly tried to dodge it, but part of the chair still hit his side and collided with the wall hard. The barstool chair was an expensive one but was nonetheless made of wood. The back of the chair cracked and two of its legs snapped off with the impact.  

Edward rubbed at his side and looked at Jonathan. “You ruined my chair _and_ my wall!” he yelled and held his arms out angrily

“Get a new one, then! You’ve got the money for it,” Jonathan snapped.

Where the chair had made contact, the wallpaper had been scraped off and the plaster could be seen underneath. There was even a gouge in the wall where the impact had been most forceful. Edward quickly went over and grabbed one of the legs. The end that had snapped was almost to a point at one corner and would have made a very effective stabbing tool.

Edward, in his dramatic fashion, pretended to inspect the wooden leg and pointed it at Jonathan like a rapier. Despite his bravado, Edward was furious with Jonathan for more reasons than just damaging his wallpaper and using all of his milk. Edward felt that he’d been more than forgiving for all the things Jonathan had done to him -- merciful, even -- but all the hitches in their complicated relationship, small and large, had accumulated up to this point, and Edward felt that it was time to get a little payback.

Edward lunged suddenly and swung at Jonathan, aiming for his head. The end of the leg collided with the expensive vase on the mantel, shattering it as Jonathan ducked to the side. Without wasting a second, Edward swung a second time at Jonathan, who had to roll dodge on the floor in order to avoid the blow. Jonathan stumbled back up and turned to face Edward. He was too far to do any damage to Edward, so all Jonathan could do in those couple of beats was bring his hands up defensively.

Edward was able to land a kick in Jonathan’s stomach. However, while still doubled-over in pain, Jonathan grabbed Edward’s raised foot in both hands and with all the force he could muster, twisted Edward’s foot and bent the leg back at a painful angle. Edward gasped and lost his balance. Jonathan still held his leg in the air as Edward fell back awkwardly and hit his head on the corner of the coffee table.

All Edward could see was white for several moments, but he reached his arm back and clumsily felt around on the coffee table for something he could throw. His hand wrapped around a large, crystal ashtray. Still disoriented, Edward threw it as hard as he could in the direction he assumed Jonathan’s head was. In an odd stroke of luck, the ashtray hit Jonathan square in the middle of his forehead. Edward heard a very muted cracking sound and a much louder crash when the ashtray hit the glass coffee table on its way back down, shattering it. Edward flinched and shielded his eyes from the decent-sized chunks of glass falling around his head.  

Jonathan hissed at the sudden pain and stumbled backward. The fight seemed to pause for a moment as Edward reoriented and picked himself up while Jonathan instinctively made to assess the damage. The gash on his forehead was deep. The blood was running down the bridge of his nose and he had to wipe some of it away from his eye. One of the ashtray’s sharper, geometric edges hit him square on, and the pain was tremendous. Jonathan worried for a moment that it had fractured his skull.

Edward did not give him long to think about it, though. He shoved Jonathan as hard as he could into the nearest wall, which caused the painting above him to fall off its hook and clatter to the floor.

“Wait, please…” was all Jonathan could muster.

The pain was making it hard to think as one hand was still pressed up against the fresh wound and the other was shaking and held up in a feeble attempt to protect his face.

It seemed Edward had not heard his mumbled request, however, as he picked up the chair leg off the ground and brought it up to Jonathan’s neck. Edward held the leg with both hands on either end, effectively pinning Jonathan to the wall by the neck. Jonathan slowly brought his hands down and slumped against the wall. Both of them were panting hard. Jonathan licked at the blood that pooled above his upper lip and threatened to drip into his mouth. He looked up at the ceiling, then closed his eyes.

“I think we’re even, now,” Jonathan couldn’t help but quip. He knew it would make Edward angry.

Edward brought the chair leg up higher, forcing Jonathan’s chin up. They looked each other in the eye. Edward’s pupils were pinpoints -- tiny in the center of his watery green irises. He looked almost feral. Jonathan only looked at him cooly, his own pupils blown. His ice blue eyes were almost piercing in nature, standing in stark contrast to the blood that had dripped into them.

Jonathan noticed that Edward was also bleeding. He had not seen it before when Edward’s mouth had been set in a stern line, but with the fight suddenly seeming to die down, Edward spat some blood out onto the marble floor. He must have bit his tongue.  

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you now,” Edward said lowly.

“Because you were never going to in the first place,” Jonathan said.

Edward narrowed his eyes. “What?” he asked.

“You don’t want to kill me, Edward,” Jonathan said. “You’d be too bored and lonely if you did. Now stop this nonsense.”

Edward kept his expression blank, but he let go of the wooden leg and let it fall to the floor. He backed up a couple of steps to give Jonathan some space.

“My apartment would be the better for it if I had,” was Edward’s response.

Edward turned and stepped over the broken coffee table, then made his way back to his bedroom. Edward closed the door and Jonathan heard the click of the lock. Jonathan looked around the room to see the damaged that had been caused. Besides the bathroom, Jonathan did not really have anywhere to go that could offer him some privacy to clean himself up. He collapsed onto the couch if only to give himself a break for one moment. Edward would surely make him fix this mess, but he’d worry about that later.

_______________________________________________________

 

Edward inspected himself in his bathroom mirror. He knew that he’d fared significantly better than Jonathan in this fight. Edward stuck his tongue out to see a small gash and swelling where he’d bitten it when he’d hit the coffee table. Edward then felt around the back of his head -- fortunately, the skin hadn’t seemed to split open, but a nasty bump was most definitely forming there.

Edward prodded at his side a bit and felt tenderness where the chair had hit him. His ankle was kind of sore, too. This was not the first fight Edward had had with Jonathan and it would certainly not be the last, but Edward had the feeling that he’d won this round. Even better, he’d made it out with few injuries. Edward was still furious with Jonathan, but he could still find joy over the small victory.

Jonathan was in a bit of a worse shape.

Jonathan had to force himself to stay awake in case his head injuries were actually very serious. He’d gone into the guest bathroom to take a look at the damage. He was almost positive that the heavy ashtray had cracked his skull, but his health rested on his hope that the fracture would heal on its own in about a week. The wound, however, required his immediate attention.

It would likely require stitches. Jonathan was not concerned with the blood and simply wiped it away with a wet washcloth, as head injuries often only _look_ far worse than they actually are. Jonathan had received many, many injuries in his life, and knew that even the smallest cut could bleed quite a lot. This gash, while only being around two centimeters across, was about as deep as it could possibly go.  

Jonathan thought he could get away with using liquid stitches, but he would have to ask Edward for that, and Edward seemed to be in no mood to talk to him at the moment.

Jonathan left the bathroom and picked up the stolen museum painting that had been knocked off the wall during their… altercation. He hung it back up, then moved over to the broken coffee table. Jonathan simply used his shoe to sweep the broken glass into some sort of a pile in the center of the table’s frame.

Jonathan wasn’t much sure what to do with the chair, though. He grabbed a garbage bag from one of the cabinets under the sink and used it to collect up what pieces of splintered wood would fit into it. He picked up what remained of the chair and set it down next to the front door.

Satisfied with his clean-up efforts for the moment, Jonathan laid back down on the couch. He had already been exhausted to begin with, but now his whole body ached, too. Times like this also seconded as cruel reminders that Jonathan was aging, and could not keep this up forever.

Jonathan heard Edward’s bedroom door open and heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. He watched closely as Edward stormed across the room and slammed the front door. He wouldn’t be back for the rest of the day and most of the night.

Perhaps the fight had been worth it, then. Jonathan would have the whole apartment to himself for the rest of the day, after all.

All over a fucking carton of milk, too.

Whiny bastard.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowee it's on time
> 
> If the pacing seems kind of odd or something doesn't make sense in context, let me know. The way I write these chapters is that I'll make a very small outline, then put dividers to separate the chapter into sections based on the outline, so I might write the last section first and the first section last, depending on if I find any inspiration or motivation to write that piece. I have never, ever written one of these chapters in the correct order, so sometimes I'll forget things that have happened in the exact same chapter. 
> 
> I'm eventually going to have to read back through all the past chapters since I've already forgotten 90% of what's happened up to this point. I'll probably also have to write down the most substantial plot points that I need to reference later to keep this thing more fluid. I feel like reading through your own work elicits the same emotion as hearing your own voice in a video, so I'm going to enjoy this. 
> 
> ALSO, I'm very aware that there are often random spaces wherever any italics are. That happens whenever I copy-paste it over from google docs. Wonderful Grammarly never seems to catch it, and when it fixes it itself, it removes the italics, too. I may one day find the motivation to go through and fix them all. 
> 
> bye.


	8. Narcissus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where they fuck (technically)

Jonathan fought the instinct to wrap his arms around himself or pull his coat tighter to keep himself warm. 

His Scarecrow costume was not the most suitable for the winter months, but Penguin’s middlemen would be here soon, and Jonathan had to keep up his appearances. He was supposed to be the “Master of Fear,” and the master of fear couldn’t appear to be  _ cold _ . What kept the citizens of Gotham cowering in fear was the  _ idea _ of the Scarecrow, not a man in a costume. The Scarecrow appearing to be influenced by human things such as cold or hunger would shatter the illusion, after all.

As the minutes ticked by, Jonathan could feel himself growing impatient. He felt like a fool -- standing there by himself, on the edge of the docks, dressed like a scarecrow. He’d raise his arms slightly, then put them back down again in a repetitive motion as he wanted to seek some sort of warmth but would then remember how much more pathetic he’d look if he was also  _ shivering  _ and alone.  

Penguin had followed up on their deal to order in some of the chemicals Jonathan needed, as Jonathan knew he would. Penguin definitely had a reputation of throwing people under the bus if it meant he could escape jail time, which was bad for business on Oswald’s part, but Penguin wasn’t stupid either. He knew the types of clients that wouldn’t let him get away with that, and Jonathan was one of them. 

So there Jonathan was. Penguin had given him the date, time, and location to pick up his lot. Jonathan had taken Edward’s car to the shipyard (which had caused a bigger argument with the man than he would’ve liked), and he currently stood at the edge of the docks among the stacked shipping containers. It was cold enough this time of year as it was, but they’d decided to meet late at night, and Jonathan was picking up the chilled wind coming inland from the ocean.  

The security cameras had been broken or removed altogether from rogues like Penguin and Black Mask years ago, but Jonathan still tried to stay out of the light from the streetlamps. Every criminal in the city knew that the docks was one of the places with the highest risk of running into Batman, especially at night. Anyone meeting here was practically  _ asking  _ for another stint in Arkham, but Jonathan would also be getting his shipment right off the boat, which was an appeal that outweighed his caution. 

For the last twenty minutes, Jonathan had watched with curiosity (and perhaps mild annoyance) as a large cargo ship pulled into the shipyard from a ways off the Jersey shore. He stayed out of view as the ship docked. He could hear shouting from some of the men on the boat and saw a few of them running here and there on the deck. Jonathan only decided to step out into the light once the ship came to a complete halt. 

One of the men glanced down and noticed him standing on the dock. Jonathan tilted his scythe slightly to catch the light glinting off it from the streetlamp, in order to get his silent point across. A nervous look crossed the sailor’s face, but Jonathan almost grinned in amusement behind his mask as the man gave a shaky smile, attempting to keep on Scarecrow’s good side. They were lucky that Jonathan had found himself to be in an oddly good mood that night, despite his earlier argument with Edward and the fact that they’d left him waiting out in the cold. 

“Ho, there! Doctor… Crane, right?” the man called down to him. He had a thick New York accent.

There was a tense silence for several moments as Jonathan decided not to answer. 

“Uh… ‘Scarecrow,’ then,” the man said slightly quieter. He then pointed to the steps being lowered onto the dock. “You can come up here to grab your stuff directly. It’ll take at least an hour to get the cranes up and running to unload the ship, otherwise…”

Jonathan sighed in annoyance, but made his way up the steps to the deck, anyway. No point in arguing over something that the man was probably right about. The sailor jogged over to meet him at the top. 

“Jerry’s got the clipboard with Penguin’s container numbers on it. It’ll be easy enough to find the crate with your order. What--” the man cut himself off by clearing his throat rather awkwardly. He’d probably thought it best not to ask what kind of deals were being made between Penguin and the Scarecrow, and rightfully so. 

“I’m going to need some of your men to unload the crates off the ship, anyway. It’s a large order, and for all our sakes, I suggest you work quickly,” Jonathan said. 

The man gulped, but said nothing. He ran off the find his clipboard and came back with it and three other men several moments later. They ran over to one of the large shipping containers and pulled it open. As three of the men began pulling boxes out, the first man read from his clipboard aloud. 

“Looks like your shipment came in from our boss’s contact in Japan… One thousand grams of L-DOPA, Two thousand grams of adrenaline, four hundred milligrams of CRH, five--” 

Jonathan was already anxious watching the sailors toss the boxes haphazardly from one person to the next and running them down the steps, but as one of the men almost dropped one of his boxes, Jonathan snapped, “Careful, you fools! Those are highly volatile substances you’re tossing around! You’d better worry about  _ me,  _ though,  _ far  _ more than worrying about spilling those chemicals on yourselves.” 

Jonathan then turned to the man with the clipboard. “And  _ you.  _ I know  _ you  _ don’t have the mental capacity to recreate my work, but kindly stop reading the ingredients of my formulas  _ out loud.  _ My purchases are none of your business!” 

The workers all paused to give him their attention. Jonathan flexed the hand with his fear gauntlet menacingly. “Hurry up and get these to the car, or I’ll show  _ you _ the effects of what the final product of these substances create.” 

“Yes… sorry, sir!” He stuttered. The other men mumbled their agreement. They worked more quickly to unpack all the boxes but were noticeably more cautious. 

Jonathan ended up with several large boxes in the trunk of Edward’s car. He tossed one of the men a duffle bag filled with the cash he owed Penguin and then sent the men away. They ran off quickly back towards the ship, clearly relieved that they had not ended up being Scarecrow’s next victims. 

All in all, it had actually been a rather good transaction. No sign of Batman, and Jonathan had been able to keep his temper with Penguin’s goons in line, so future deals with the man seemed promising. Jonathan had ordered such large amounts because he had something big planned, and he’d certainly be needing more of Penguin’s help in the future. 

Jonathan pulled off his hat and mask and gasped at the cold, biting air. He shut the trunk and got into the driver’s seat, tossing his mask onto the seat next to him. 

He shivered, and turned up the heat as high as it would go. 

_______________________________________________________

 

“My boys didn’t give you any trouble, did they, now?” Oswald asked jovially as he puffed on one of his cigars. 

Oswald was quite drunk as his cheeks were flushed and his accent had become harder to understand. Jonathan had to admit to himself that he was also slightly tipsy at the moment. 

He and Oswald had gotten to discussing their recent deal, but the party at the Iceberg Lounge certainly had nothing to do with it, as it was not much of a means for celebration. No, it was just another party that Oswald held on occasion. More parties meant more guests, and more guests meant more money and recognition. 

However, only the elite were ever invited. Any criminal in Gotham would know they’d made it in the underground once they’d received such an invitation. Jonathan recognized many faces there tonight. Edward was also off somewhere, likely talking to Selina, which left Jonathan with a drunken Oswald. 

Jonathan finished off his whiskey and signaled to a passing waitress for another. “They didn’t give me much trouble, no. But did you really have to send me down there to get it right off the damn ship? Y’know, you’d have much better business if you made deliveries.” 

Oswald chuckled and waved it off. “My men at the shipyard… couldn’t pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel. You’d never see those packages again, I’d think.” 

Jonathan smiled a bit. The conversation lulled as the waitress came back with Jonathan’s drink and Oswald was pulled to the side by another one of his guests. Jonathan took another sip of his whiskey and looked out at the rest of the party from his booth in the corner. He hated parties. Everything about it was dizzying: the lights, the music, everyone trying to talk over each other. Jonathan looked back at Oswald and watched as he frowned at the man speaking closely into his ear. 

Oswald glanced at Jonathan and gave a small shrug. Jonathan could barely hear him over the noise: “Back to business, it looks like. Sorry, mate,” and then he walked off through the crowd, pausing on occasion to say hello to several people. 

Despite his hatred for parties, Jonathan felt odd sitting alone in a room full of people. As hard as he tried to maintain his cold and aloof demeanor, he’d also be sending the wrong message if he looked like the kid in the school lunchroom who had no one to sit with. 

Jonathan stood and took his glass with him. He maneuvered through the other guests, looking for that signature swatch of green amidst the blacks and whites and purples that the rest of the guests were wearing. 

As Jonathan passed the bar, he overheard one of the men sitting at a stool with two women flanked at his sides.   

“Who invited the old man?” he smirked. The two young women giggled. 

Jonathan was accustomed to situations like this, and he knew very well when he was being teased. He turned to look at the trio. “Are you referring to me?” Jonathan asked lowly. He walked over to where they were standing. 

The man must’ve been in his late twenties. Clearly a spoiled young thing with a rich daddy who’d bought his way to the top. That expensive two-piece suit and the gold-digging harlots at his sides screamed insecurity. It would be so easy to prod at his weak spots. 

The boy sat up straighter. “Yeah, I’m talking about you. Who even are you? You look like a field hand.” The girls giggled again at the joke. 

“I’m sure you know very well who I am, you just gotta use that brain of yours for once,” Jonathan pointed a finger at him. “Unlike yourself,  _ I  _ can afford to dress however I choose because the fear of what I can do far outweighs Penguin’s need to keep up appearances. Only the  _ worst  _ of Gotham’s criminals need not fear  _ violating  _ the Lounge’s ‘ _ dress code. _ ’” Jonathan drawled sarcastically. 

The boy was clearly poking fun of his choice to wear jeans and a flannel shirt to a black tie event. In all honesty, he didn’t own anything nicer, but Edward (out of the kindness of his heart) had tried to physically force him into a suit. Jonathan had had none of it, and so this was how it was going to be.

To the young man’s credit, there was a newfound spark of nervousness in his eyes, and his smile had faltered. He was beginning to doubt himself, and was beginning to fear that Jonathan was just as important as he said he was. 

And his fears were quite reasonable, as they were also accurate.

Jonathan stepped close enough to make the man grow uncomfortable. With the hand that still held his whiskey glass, Jonathan pointed his finger at the man’s chest. 

“You’re talking to the  _ Scarecrow,  _ child. Now learn some respect,” he growled, then walked off as though none of that had even happened and continued his search for Edward.

Jonathan had fear toxin with him, of course. He never went anywhere without it, but he also knew that Edward would throw the biggest fit of his life if Oswald threw them all out if Jonathan caused any sort of scene.  

Jonathan found him in another corner of the bar, sitting at a booth with several other rogues. Jonathan saw no room at the table for himself, so he stood there awkwardly at the end of the booth. 

Edward cut off his conversation with Selina and turned his attention to Jonathan. Edward still had a wide smile plastered on his face. He was holding a fresh martini in one hand and Jonathan saw a few other empty glasses on the table in front of him.

“Jonathan!” Edward slurred. “Glad you could finally join us.”

“Somebody, make some room,” Edward asked. He slid some of the empty glasses to the side. 

Selina huffed and rolled her eyes as Harley pushed her closer to Ivy so they were all squished together. “You can sit right here with us, Professah!” she smiled and patted the space next to her. 

Jonathan set his glass down and squeezed in next to Harley. He found himself sitting directly across from Edward. 

“How many of those martinis are yours, Edward?” Jonathan asked. 

Edward looked over at the collection of empty glasses and moved his finger around vaguely as though he were counting them. 

“Don’t be such a party pooper, Professah! Eddie’s fine!” Harley interjected. “We were just playin’ a game to see if he could still solve all’a his riddles!” 

“ _ Despite _ being completely blasted,” Ivy added and crossed her arms. 

“And can he?” Jonathan raised an eyebrow. 

“Of course I can!” Edward protested. “Watch--”

And so for the next hour, they all watched in amusement as Edward downed more liquor and continued to answer any question thrown at him with accuracy, albeit with a few hiccups the more he drank. 

Jonathan had stopped after his fourth glass of whiskey. Even through his torpor, he could feel the oncoming headache and had reasonably elected to drink water for the rest of the night. And also for his own sake, he’d asked the waitress to please God stop giving Edward any more alcohol, no matter what he offered to pay for it. Edward was often careful with drinking, but somewhere between his sobriety and drunkenness, Edward would develop the notion that he did not get drunk. Ever. It was impossible. 

He always inevitably paid for it later. 

When the party had finally died down (far later than Jonathan would have preferred), Jonathan made no attempt to help keep Edward from falling over as they made their way back to the apartment. All he did was look over his shoulder on occasion to make sure Edward was still following him out to the taxi. 

However, Jonathan was growing frustrated, and he grabbed Edward’s shoulder to pull him along faster and through the Lounge’s doors. Edward stumbled out onto the sidewalk and pulled his shoulder from Jonathan’s grasp. 

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Edward mumbled. He swayed for a moment in front of the doorway, then moved to brace himself against the outside wall. Edward had a pained look on his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths. “Ugh, just… give me a second.” 

Edward leaned over and made a horrible coughing sound. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” Jonathan heard him say. 

“If you need to vomit try and hurry it up -- the cab’s waiting,” Jonathan said. He felt himself sway a bit, too, and his stomach felt empty. Jonathan worried that watching Edward get sick would also make  _ him  _ nauseous. Actually, the thought alone was enough. 

The cab driver honked his horn, and Edward shot back up. He hissed and rubbed his forehead at the sudden movement, but said, “I’m fine, I’m fine. The feeling’s gone, now.”

_______________________________________________________

 

Edward shut the door to his apartment and shrugged off his jacket. He felt very hot all of a sudden. He quickly pulled of his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt. Normally he’d take greater care with his suit, but tonight, he just threw the jacket and tie onto the floor by the front door. Jonathan walked past him to flop down on the couch while Edward quickly ran to the kitchen. 

Jonathan lifted his face from the couch cushion to look at Edward, who was bracing himself over the kitchen sink. Edward reached up to unbutton the rest of his shirt and pulled it off completely. He left it on the counter and went back to his position over the sink. 

“You alright over there?” Jonathan asked. 

“Ugh… no. It’s fucking hot in here and I still feel like I’m going to be sick.” said Edward.

“What did you think would happen when you drank all that liquor, Edward? I told you to get something to eat or at least drink some water,” Jonathan said. 

“I wasn’t  _ thinking,  _ alright!” Edward snapped. “I wasn’t thinking. And all they had were shrimp hors-d'oeuvres and… meat. Even when I’m not drunk off my ass, the smell of meat makes me sick.” 

Edward made a pained sound and took a deep breath. “Don’t make me think about it,” Edward straightened back up and moved to sit next to Jonathan on the couch. “I feel awful, but my body doesn’t want to do anything about it, it seems.” 

Jonathan sat back up and moved a bit closer to Edward. “This is a hell of your own making, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t need to be an asshole about it, Jonathan. You’re drunk, too, and you’re going to suffer as much as I am by tomorrow morning,” Edward pointed out. 

“You don’t normally do this,” Jonathan said. 

“Do what?” 

“Get drunk.”

“Oh… Well, neither do you,” said Edward.

“But I’m also not the one who prides himself solely on his mind,” Jonathan observed. “I’m not a doctor, but-- oh, wait, I am -- but marinating your brain in alcohol doesn’t seem healthy.” 

“Said the pot to the kettle,” Edward snapped. “Why do you care so much?” 

Normally, Jonathan would be quick to say that no, he didn’t care, but instead he sat there in silence. “I don’t know,” was all that he said. 

Edward crossed his arms. “Oh? You care?  _ You  _ care?” he asked disbelievingly. “Is it because if your dear friend Edward were a drunken idiot, you wouldn’t have had such a nice apartment to stay in?”

“No, of course that’s not it,” Jonathan rolled his eyes.

“What is it, then?” 

There was a tense silence as the two of them looked at each other. Neither seemed to know what the other’s next move was going to be. Jonathan was the first to move as he put his arm over the back of the couch and leaned in closer to Edward, 

Jonathan kissed him, then. Whatever faculties were still running in Edward’s brain at that point all suddenly stopped functioning. 

Jonathan’s hand was raised, but not quite touching Edward’s cheek, as though he wanted to place it there but was too nervous to. The only thought that Edward was able to process was that Jonathan’s lips were chapped, but very warm. Jonathan didn’t seem to know what he was doing, either, as the kiss was completely still. Edward only realized that he had not reacted at all when Jonathan pulled back. 

They both stared at each other for several seconds. Edward really didn’t know what to say, but Jonathan didn’t seem to want to wait for it. 

Jonathan watched him for a moment longer before mumbling, “Forget it, then,” and moving to get up from the couch. 

Before he could think, Edward said, “Wait,” and put out a hand to stop Jonathan from leaving. 

Jonathan looked back down at him with a confused look in his eyes and slowly sat back down. 

“What?” was all Jonathan could ask. 

“I…” Edward took a deep breath and rubbed at his face with both hands. “I don’t… really know what to  do.” 

Jonathan frowned. “You’ve never had sex before?”

“No! I mean,  _ yes _ , of course I have, but…” Edward trailed off. He looked back up at Jonathan. “Is that what you really want?”

Jonathan’s expression looked almost solemn. He looked away for a moment. “Right now? Yes, it’s what I want. The question is: what do  _ you  _ want?” 

Edward thought for a moment. In his current state, it was quite hard to think about anything, really, but instead of answering, Edward just reached over and started to unbutton Jonathan’s shirt. Jonathan let him as he continued to sit back on the couch, but moved forward a bit to make it easier for Edward.

Edward leaned forward and gave Jonathan a much harder kiss than he’d given him before. This time, Jonathan reached up to place a hand on Edward’s face, then moved it back to run his fingers through Edward’s hair. 

Edward reached the last few buttons of Jonathan’s shirt and stood up. Jonathan followed suit and left his shirt there on the couch. Still standing in the middle of Edward’s living room, Edward pulled Jonathan closer to him and gave him another rough kiss. Jonathan stumbled a bit and Edward had to put a hand back to brace the weight of the two of them on the armchair behind him. 

“Shit,” Edward whispered. 

He balanced himself, then brought his hand back up to Jonathan’s chest.

Edward put both of his hands on the sides of Jonathan’s face and continued to kiss him fervently. 

They’d both gone from moving slowly and cautiously to becoming increasingly wound up. Edward’s headache and nausea seemed to have conveniently disappeared, and he suddenly remembered what the appeal of getting wasted was. 

Jonathan moved his weight toward the hallway, and Edward was able to take the hint.  

Edward placed his hands on Jonathan’s shoulders and pushed him slightly to pull out of the kiss. Edward looked up at Jonathan, still gripping his shoulders. 

“You’ve been living here for months, but you haven’t actually seen my bedroom yet, have you?” Edward asked. He was breathing hard. 

Jonathan looked down at him. “No, I haven’t.” 

“Would you like to?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh so I thought they’d sleep together later in the story but I saw “sexy time” in my outline for this chapter and was like “well okay.” Past me was READY. I did say I’d be speeding it up though (I wasn’t having it with big boy time skips) and I think I’ve held myself back long enough. BUT… sorry boys, actions have consequences and they’ll find that out soon enough in the next chapter. 
> 
> Sorry I put this in the same chapter as the very boring beginning where Jonathan is hangin’ out around a cargo ship  
> And again, sorry if it seems a bit rushed. That's because it was
> 
> I was honestly debating whether to keep the actual scene rather vague or just hinting at it at the very end. I personally like when most things are left to the imagination. But honestly let me know because I’ve got more planned for the future. 
> 
> ;)


	9. Stalemate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither of them could figure out where the other stood. And both were reluctant to ask, because they feared the answer.

Edward groaned and rubbed at his eyes. He covered his face with a hand in an attempt to both stave off his pounding headache and to shield his eyes from the bright light shining in from his bedroom window. Edward rolled onto his side and tried to pull the covers closer to his body, seeking warmth. 

With his eyes still shut, Edward made a face as the sheets seemed to be caught on something. He pulled a bit harder, but they wouldn’t give. Slightly frustrated, Edward opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder to see what the problem was. 

Still groggy and with his mind buffering for a moment, Edward squinted and reached out a hand to make sure that the large lump under his sheets actually existed. Then, his eyes widened as everything clicked into place.

It took him much longer than he would’ve liked to realize that there was another body in his bed. And several moments longer to recall just who that person likely was. 

Edward hesitated to lift the covers, genuinely scared to have his fears confirmed. 

He  _ really  _ didn’t want to look. 

Edward’s hand hovered over the figure for a moment before pinching the sheet with two fingertips and pulling them aside as slowly and lightly as he could. 

Facing away from him and still fast asleep, there was a tall, lanky man lying in his bed. Edward didn’t need to know any more than that. 

Edward cringed and made a small noise in the back of his throat. He pulled the covers back up.

“No…” he whispered disbelievingly. “No… oh, no.” 

Edward pulled the covers off quickly and jumped out of bed, moving quietly as to not wake the other man up. He looked down at himself and felt a wave of embarrassment and self-consciousness as he became blatantly aware of his nudity. Edward pulled open one of his drawers by the bed and grabbed a pair of boxers. 

He walked quickly to the bathroom and shut the door silently. Edward stared at himself in the mirror with complete disbelief. How could he have been so  _ stupid?  _ Edward shook his head at himself and ran a hand through his hair. He opened the shower door and turned it on, as piping hot as it could go. The heat would aggravate the bruises on his neck and chest, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care at the moment. 

Standing under the showerhead, Edward just stared at the wall blankly, as though it would give him the answers on just how to solve this horrible problem he’d just placed himself in. With robotic movements, Edward went in order: body wash, shampoo, conditioner. Halfway through his shower, Edward switched the water temperature to as cold as it would go, hopefully to wake himself up and  _ snap out of it. _

He stepped out and dried himself off. Edward put back on only his boxers before sneaking through the bedroom back out to the living room.

Looking around his apartment, Edward found the mess they’d made the night before. He found both their shirts and his jacket on the counter, the couch, and the  _ floor.  _ They’d just left their clothes all over the place! Edward thought he was going to have a stroke. It was only a few things, but with everything that had happened up to that point, his mind was turning it into a disaster.

Edward turned on his heel and walked back to the bedroom. He mindlessly grabbed the empty condom wrapper on the floor and tossed it into the trash can. He picked up a few of the clothes that were also on the floor and just left them in a pile at the foot of the bed. He’d deal with those later. 

Edward moved to his closet and picked out an outfit to appear more dignified. He put it on quickly and quietly, though he started to wonder if he even needed to worry about waking Jonathan up. 

Fully clothed, Edward walked back into the kitchen to make himself a  _ strong  _ cup of coffee. Without thinking about it, he set the coffee maker to make one for Jonathan, as well. Edward grabbed the opened pack of cigarettes sitting on the kitchen counter and lit one up. He took a deep inhale like it was going to save his life. 

Edward coughed and reached up to open his medicine cabinet, the cigarette still on his lips. He grabbed a small bottle of painkillers and shook two of them out into his hand. Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry. 

Edward made his cup of coffee and moved to sit at the chair facing the apartment window. It was a beautiful, sunny morning in Gotham City, and Edward hated it. He hated the sunlight reflecting off the silver skyscrapers and he hated the bright blue sky and he hated soft, white clouds. Gotham City was  _ supposed  _ to be dark and dreary. If Edward had wanted to live in Metropolis, he would’ve moved there ages ago, but he didn’t. 

Edward sat there completely motionless, staring out the window while he let his coffee get cold. He took a sip of his lukewarm coffee and heard movement coming from the other room. Looks like Jonathan finally decided to wake up. 

After several minutes and some quiet muttering that he couldn’t make out, Edward heard the bedroom door softly open and shut. He couldn't see the other man, but Edward imagined that Jonathan looked quite sheepish after realizing the situation. 

Without looking at him, Jonathan entered the living room and walked quickly past Edward towards the guest bathroom. He was wearing his underwear and cradling the rest of his clothes in one arm held close to his chest. 

As he passed, Jonathan raised a threatening finger out to Edward. 

“Don’t move a muscle. And don’t say a word.” Jonathan said sternly. His face and the tips of his ears were red. 

Jonathan then quickly shut the bathroom door and locked it behind him. Edward heard the shower come on. 

_______________________________________________________

 

He’d been in there for at least twenty minutes. 

Jonathan stepped out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, and Edward couldn’t help but notice that he was clinging on to the front of it with a death grip. 

“I’d like some privacy… please,” Jonathan bit out. 

“Hm?”

“I don’t exactly have a bedroom, do I?” Jonathan asked rhetorically, “Where else am I supposed to go?” 

Edward felt himself blush, but looked away from Jonathan quickly and stood up. 

“Right…” Edward trailed off. He cleared his throat. “I’ll uh, leave you alone, then.” 

He moved past Jonathan and put his cup of coffee in the kitchen sink. He felt Jonathan’s eyes on him. 

“You made me coffee,” he heard Jonathan say.

Edward looked up at the coffee maker. He’d forgotten about that. The heater was still on, though. “Yeah, so?”

“Just an observation.” 

Edward stood in the middle of the kitchen awkwardly. He took a deep breath and patted his thighs. “Well… I think I have somewhere I need to be. I think I’ll be out for a while.” 

“Okay,” Jonathan said.

“Okay,” Edward repeated, and left the apartment without his keys or wallet. 

Halfway down the hallway, Edward realized this. He thought about going back to get them, but hesitated as he worried that it would make the situation worse than it already was. He decided against it and kept walking. 

It wasn’t like he really needed it, anyway. He’d lied when he said he had somewhere he needed to be. Edward would probably just find himself sitting on a public bench for the next few hours. 

He had a lot to think about, after all. 

_______________________________________________________

 

With a reputation like Edward’s, there were few places he could go in public without fear of getting arrested or at the very least recognized. Especially during the daytime. He found himself lingering awkwardly by the elevator door of his apartment building, trying to think of somewhere he could go. 

He’d really limited himself with his career choice, hadn’t he?   


Edward found himself calling Selina. 

_ “Hello? Edward?”  _ he heard her answer.

“Selina, I think I have a problem,” Edward began. 

_ “You think?”  _

“I can’t… I can’t tell you what it is. Yet,” said Edward. It still felt like a dream -- or maybe a nightmare -- and he feared that speaking it out loud would make it true. 

_ “What  _ level _ of trouble are we talking about here?” _ Selina asked. 

Edward huffed. “I don’t know. One whose scale?” 

_ “On mine. One to ten: one being you need help opening a picker jar and ten being someone is actively trying to murder you.”  _

“Selina, this is serious.”

_ “Ten?” _

“Not that serious… I hope.” 

_ “Eight?” _

“Eh… no.” 

_ “I can’t keep guessing, Edward. Just tell me what your problem is!”  _ Selina said impatiently. 

Edward sighed. “Nevermind. I need to figure this out on my own. Thanks anyway, Selina.” And he hung up. 

Maybe he could find a nice, private park bench to sit at. 

______________________________________________________

 

When Edward came back, Jonathan was fully dressed and sitting at the kitchen bar. He had a half-finished cup of coffee sitting in front of him and he looked absolutely exhausted. Jonathan had his head in his hands and was staring down at the counter.

“You left your wallet… and your keys,” Jonathan said without looking up. 

“I know,” Edward said. He stood in the doorway for a few moments before moving hesitantly to sit next to Jonathan at the bar.

"I bummed one of your cigarettes."

"That's fine."

There was silence for a moment. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Jonathan. 

“I wasn’t  _ going  _ to,” Edward huffed and folded his hands in his lap. Then he frowned. “I don’t even… remember. Any of it.”

Still without looking up, Jonathan said, “I do. I remember every disgusting, deplorable detail.” 

Edward’s frown deepened. He pushed his chair back a bit. “ _ Deplorable? _ What was so deplorable!?”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it.” 

“Well, I want to talk about it  _ now, _ ” Edward griped. Jonathan was the one to bring it up!  _ Deplorable…  _ Jesus Christ. 

But then, Edward hesitated. “Was it really that… bad?” he asked. 

Jonathan sighed and finally lifted his head, but he still wouldn’t look at Edward. “No. It wasn’t bad.”

They sat quietly for a moment.

“I think… I need to get out for a while,” Jonathan said and stood up. 

Edward only nodded, a feeling of disappointment in his gut. He’d only just gotten back, and now Jonathan was leaving. They didn’t have to talk about it -- not right  _ now,  _ at least -- but he could at least tell Edward what he thought was so  _ deplorable  _ about it. 

Jonathan shut the door behind him, and Edward was left alone to his thoughts. They’d have to talk about it sooner or later, even if the two of them really,  _ really  _ didn’t want to. 

Could they keep on living together with this new air of awkwardness and tension around them? Edward didn’t think so. At least Jonathan seemed as embarrassed as Edward was, rather than angry. Edward recalled times when past drunken one night stands had accused him of it being  _ his  _ fault for their ruined relationship, as if it hadn’t been a choice they had both made together. It takes two to tango, after all. 

But embarrassment was an easier mess to clean up than anger was. Despite what had happened, Edward really did enjoy Jonathan’s company. 

He just hoped he hadn’t fucked it up. 

______________________________________________________

 

Jonathan wandered through the alleyways, trying to avoid running into anybody. 

One of the perks about being a costumed villain was that fewer people recognized you out of said costume. Not all the rogues had that luxury -- such as Edward. 

Edward. Obsessive, narcissistic, egomaniacal Edward. 

Jonathan couldn’t recall when the shift had been. When had he grown a sudden fondness for Edward?

And was it even fondness? Jonathan couldn’t even count the number of times their fights had grown violent. But they were both volatile in their own way, and maybe that was the only way they knew  _ how _ to show some semblance of care. 

Edward had said that he didn’t remember anything that had happened the night before, but Jonathan had. 

He remembered that  _ he  _ had been the one to initiate things. And he remembered enjoying it. It was all the cruder details that made him flush with embarrassment. The things they’d done, the things they’d begged for… the sounds they’d made. 

They had both been drunk, but that had not changed the fact that Jonathan had genuinely wanted those things. He regretted it… but he’d  _ wanted _ it.  

But Jonathan couldn’t focus on his wants, just then. He had to think about why he regretted it, and what to do about it. 

Edward hadn’t seemed that angry. If anything, he’d seemed… penitent. Jonathan felt a small pang of guilt at how he’d snapped at Edward earlier that morning. He’d been embarrassed, was all -- still reeling from the shock of what they’d done. Of what he’d asked of Edward. 

The best option would be to move out indefinitely. Or permanently. Their working relationship had certainly been compromised. Could Jonathan work with somebody that he had slept with? Not likely. There was too much… involvement with one another.

But Edward’s response made Jonathan hopeful that there was still a chance that at least some type of relationship between the two of them could be salvaged. He’d made Jonathan  _ coffee,  _ for pity’s sake. That at least meant he didn’t hate him. Edward didn’t hate him. 

His head ached. He had a hangover, and there were too many questions to ask and answer and too many anomalies to fix. 

Jonathan found himself standing in front of the office building where his old hideout had been. Had he walked that far? It seemed his feet had taken him here reflexively. He couldn’t stay here, certainly not after spending months living in Edward’s hedonistic abode. 

Jonathan would have to move out. It was for their own good. He pulled out his phone and decided to call Jervis. It looked like he’d be owing the man another favor. 

_______________________________________________________

 

Jonathan returned later that day. Edward didn’t ask him where he’d gone off to. 

Jonathan sat in the chair across from the couch where Edward had been working. Edward looked up to see Jonathan watching him with a blank expression, and so Edward closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table. After their… altercation a while back, Edward had elected to get a wooden coffee table, this time. Less easy to break. 

Edward leaned back with crossed his arms and waited for Jonathan to speak. 

“After taking some time to think things through, I think I should move out,” Jonathan said. 

Right to business, then. Edward couldn’t hide the slightly hurt expression on his face.

“Do you think that’s the best idea?” Edward asked hollowly. 

“You think it isn’t?” asked Jonathan. 

“I didn’t say that,” Edward leaned forward. “I’m just… I don’t know what to say, is all.” 

That didn’t come out right. Frustrated, Edward ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Of course that’s the best option.” 

“Of course,” Jonathan repeated. 

Edward wrung his hands together. “Are you… embarrassed? By what happened,” he asked. 

“Of course I’m embarrassed,” said Jonathan. “Are you not?”

“I am,” Edward admitted. “It never should’ve happened, and I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize.” 

“We’re fine, then?” Edward asked. He was surprised at Jonathan’s response. 

“Of course we’re fine,” Jonathan sighed. “As ‘fine’ as we ever were, anyway.”

Nothing about this was funny, but Edward gave a small laugh. “We’ll go back to trying to kill each other in no time.” 

Jonathan didn’t smile back, but his expression softened. However, the light flush on his pale face seemed ever-present. “I never had many belongings here to begin with. It shouldn’t take me long to move everything out,” he said. 

“Take your time,” said Edward. 

Jonathan stood up. “I could be out of here by tonight, if you want me to be,” he said. 

“Did I give you the impression of wanting you gone so badly?” Edward asked, only half joking. 

“No,” said Jonathan, “Not really, but the sooner the better -- for the both of us, I think.” 

Jonathan hesitated, then walked back in front of the couch. “I also think it would be best if we… don’t talk, for a while.” 

That made Edward’s heart skip a beat. “Why not?” he asked. 

“I need some space,” Jonathan answered. “I don’t say that to offend you, Edward. But I have enough to think about on my own, and I’ve got work that needs to be completed.” 

Edward turned his face away from Jonathan before turning back with a small, fake smile. “Fine,” he said. He stood up as well, and watched as Jonathan started to collect up his things. 

Edward started to back up in the direction of his bedroom and called out to Jonathan, “You can go as soon as you please, Jonathan, but before you leave… you’re washing my sheets.” 

Jonathan straightened back up and turned to face Edward. He was about to protest when Edward shut his bedroom door, blocking him out. 

Edward leaned his back against the door and dropped his face in his hands. 

He had fucked it up, hadn’t he? 

Whatever this was supposed to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like the parts that actually describe what Edward and Jon do when they leave the house kind of takes away from the chapter, but I had added them in to make the chapter longer. Not sure what to do with this.   
> I also feel like this chapter was rather uneventful, but maybe that's just me. 
> 
> Sorry for using the word "embarrassed" 2957 times in this chapter


	10. Maslow's Hammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both over-rely on familiar tools to help cope with their issues. Sometimes it does more harm than good.   
> (or more specifically, Edward does something kinda stupid and people are worried)

“Why’d you leave?”

Jonathan turned to look at Jervis. He’d just finished placing the last of his things in Jervis’s hideout. Fortunately for him -- and unlike Edward -- Jervis had a spare bedroom. 

Jonathan chose to lie. “At least you and I get along. You don’t plan on murdering me, do you, Jervis?”

“Oh, no, no, no!” Jervis shook his head vehemently. “I would never even think of such a thing! I swear it!”

“That’s what I thought,” Jonathan grinned. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

Jervis pat Jonathan on the arm and walked off, likely to make them both a cup of tea. It was certainly a change in dynamic from him and Edward. A drastic change. Jonathan sat on the bed and massaged his aching temples. Edward was infuriating, but intelligent. He had his moments where the both of them could have very stimulating conversation. And Jervis was… Jervis. But that wasn’t to say that the Mad Hatter did not have his own valuable insights to share. The man was brilliant in his own way. 

Edward had also been attractive in… other ways, hence Jonathan’s lapse in judgement. But no matter how attractive he may have seemed, mistakes had been made, and moving out and staying away had been the best solution. 

Jonathan couldn’t guess how long he’d be staying with Jervis. Frankly, he didn’t want to live with  _ anyone.  _ He enjoyed solitude, and he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a moment’s peace. He was also incredibly behind on his experiments. In fact, he’d been criminally inactive for  _ months.  _ Some, including Batman, might consider that progress, but Jonathan saw it as a regression. He felt like he was becoming… domesticated, and he hated it. It was time to get back to work. 

Jervis came back in with a cup of tea. “Oh, I should’ve asked what you wanted! I’m sure you would’ve preferred coffee, but the best I had was English Breakfast, I’m afraid!” 

Jonathan accepted the cup handed to him. “It’s fine, Jervis. Don’t worry.” 

“Oh, I don’t worry. Except perhaps for you. You look down, March Hare. Why is that?”

Jonathan set his cup on the nightstand. “It’s funny that you ask. I’ve decided it’s high time I get back to work. You don’t mind if I bring any… guests over, do you? Set up some lab equipment?”

Jervis shook his head. “I suppose not. Just don’t get any blood on my oriental rug!” 

“Excellent.” Jonathan smiled. 

_______________________________________________________

 

Edward clicked through the footage of each of his cameras that he’d set up around the city. He liked to have surveillance in as many places as he could reach. Along with the cameras, he paid people -- from the homeless to Gotham’s top politicians -- to be his eyes and ears. He placed more surveillance in locations that he considered to be of most import: GCPD headquarters, the mayor’s office, Gotham City Bank. But recently, a new location had moved up on his list of places of interest. 

After Jonathan announced that he would be moving out, Edward had privately elected to set up more cameras around the area he knew Jervis’s hideout to be in. He also took the liberty to pay some of their neighbors to keep an eye out and update him about anything… interesting. 

Edward was looking at that footage, now. He lingered on the ones that could see into the hideout. As well as they could, at least. Jervis had a habit of transforming any hideout of his into looking like an opium den, and that meant the very heavy decorative drapes covering all the windows. 

Edward leaned in closer to the monitor, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw a figure that could only be Jon walk into view. It seemed that Jonathan had gone out to find himself a new test subject, if the suspiciously human-sized bag Jon was dragging was anything to go by. Jonathan was fully dressed up as Scarecrow, and Edward watched as Jonathan struggled to get the writhing package through the door. Edward was in complete rapture as though it were an entertaining television show, so he did not pick up any of the sound coming from behind him. Up to a point. 

“Is that  _ Crane _ you’re watching?” asked a female voice right behind Edward. 

Edward jumped and whipped his chair around. “ _ Selina? _ God, give me a heart attack, why don’t you… What are you doing here? Couldn’t you have bothered to knock?”

“No,” Selina answered, and walked around to Edward’s side. “I asked you a question first, Eddie.”

Selina reached over and took the computer mouse from Edward. She looked through some of the footage on her own. Selina looked down at Edward. 

“Almost all of these cameras are pointed at Crane. Any particular reason?” 

Edward crossed his arms. “Why are you here, Selina?”

Selina also crossed her arms. “I always do this, you know. Maybe I just wanted to visit a friend because I was lonely. It seems you don’t ever complain about it unless you’re in the middle of doing something you’re embarrassed about.”

Edward huffed. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about! Crane is a… person of interest. I’m just doing my research.” 

_ “You’re  _ stalking  _ him, Edward!?”  _ Selina hissed.

“No! Not  _ stalking,  _ per se. I’m… doing research, like I said.” Edward said, and not with much confidence.

Selina raised an eyebrow. “And why would you care about how he’s doing?” 

“...No reason.” 

“You’ve been acting weird, Edward! Can’t you see that?” Selina asked. “This isn’t normal, and you know it. Not even mentioning that Crane is bad news.” 

“My job in this city is collecting all the information I can and selling it for the right price,” Edward snapped. “Anything I can get on Scarecrow could be useful. With him here, that was easy. With him gone, not so much. So yes, Selina. I’m watching him. But I have my reasons! That good enough for you?”

“Where are the cameras on me, then? Penguin? Joker? Bane?” she fumed.  

“Bold of you to assume I  _ don’t _ have eyes on all of you,” Edward said. 

“You don’t trust us then? You’re friends? I thought I meant more to you than that.” 

“I am NOT friends with Joker,” he said. 

“We are talking about Joker, Edward!” Selina yelled. “What is the  _ matter  _ with you!?” 

“I…” Edward took a deep breath. Selina was right, but Edward had also backed himself into a corner. His pride wouldn’t let him admit that he was wrong. “Remember when I called you the other day? I’ve got a problem, Selina, and I said I’d handle it on my own. This is me handling it -- in the best way I know how.”

“What has Crane done to you?” Selina said, her tone softer. 

“Nothing I didn’t ask him to. And nothing I didn’t deserve.” 

“And what are you going to do?” she asked. “What could you possibly gain from watching him like this?”

“I… have absolutely no idea what I’m going to do,” Edward said. He looked down at his shoes. 

“I have a bad feeling you’re going to do something you’re going to regret,” Selina said. 

“I think you just might be right.” 

_______________________________________________________

 

Perhaps his latent overreaction had finally manifested itself. 

Or maybe he just wanted to take his mind off of recent events. 

Either way, Edward found himself in a bit of trouble. 

He waltzed through the revolving door carrying a briefcase in one hand and his cane in the other. He turned to look straight into each of the security cameras that surrounded the room, and placed his hat on his head with flair. Edward walked right past security, and with his cane, he smashed through the glass to set off the alarm system. 

The alarm immediately sounded, and security sprung into action. In the ensuing chaos, Edward quickly ran past them and ducked through the fast-closing steel doors that automatically lowered to protect the precious artifacts inside. One of the museum’s most recent exhibits hosted one piece that Edward knew would easily fit into his briefcase and fit even more perfectly into his growing art collection at home. 

Again, Edward was better known for his intellectual prowess than his physical one, but if he was deft enough to prove a challenge to Batman, then museum security meant absolutely nothing to him. When the security cages fully lowered to cover every window and door, Edward had made sure that it left the guards and police out and left the Riddler completely alone inside. 

This heist had been a last-minute decision, but at the very least Edward had made sure to come at a time with low foot traffic. How did ten minutes before closing sound?

His prize hung on the wall on the opposite side of the room. Edward unlocked his empty briefcase and set it on the ground. Pulling the X-Acto knife from his pocket, Edward reached up to cut along the edges of the painting, then rolled it up and placed it back in the case. Edward considered himself an art historian as one of his many hobbies, and it pained him to damage the painting, but how else was he supposed to get it to fit? 

Quick and easy. His only issue now was to disable the security system, raise the doors, and get past whoever had been called in on the outside. Edward looked around. Perhaps he hadn’t entirely thought this through. He’d forgotten that the only way to get the alarm to stop was to disable it from the outside where the museum entrance was. By himself, the only way for Edward to get out was up. He decided to call Query and Echo, and pulled his phone out of his pocket to do so.  

Edward flinched and shielded his head and neck as the glass ceiling shattered above him. A heavy thud of boots landing on the ground signaled that Edward had a new guest. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. 

“Nygma...” 

“Took you long enough,” Edward grumbled. 

“You didn’t really think you’d get away with this, did you?” Batman asked. 

Edward raised a hand to his chin. “Y’know, Detective? I don’t know  _ what _ I was thinking. Silly me!” 

Edward saw Batman frown under his cowl. “You came in here with no plan. Not even so much as a riddle. I think you’re starting to lose your touch.” 

“You think I just decided to break into MoMA on a  _ whim?”  _ Edward snapped. 

“Yes,” said Batman. “You had to have known that there wasn’t even a chance that you’d get out of this one. Not even you can just walk into a museum with nothing but a walking cane and a briefcase and freely walk back out with a painting worth half a million dollars.” 

“I absolutely would have gotten away had  _ you  _ not shown up,” Edward crossed his arms. Then he put them back down and sighed. “There’s really no way I’m getting out of this, is there? Well, then, take me away, Detective! Please just… don’t hit me in the face.”

But Batman did not move. “Some people are worried about you, Nygma.” 

Edward huffed. “What, did  _ Selina  _ tell you that? She’s the one who’s overreacting! It’s not like I’m having some sort of mental breakdown.” 

“She thinks you might be,” Batman said. 

“And others think I had a psychotic break day one I decided to get into crime!” said Edward. “Which one is it, then?”

“It doesn’t matter which one,” Batman said. “Where you belong is Arkham, getting the help you need.”

“Don’t pretend to worry about my mental health, Batman. I’m as fine as I’ve ever been,” Edward gestured to himself. 

Seriously. Edward had had plenty of one night stands before -- if what had happened between him and Jonathan even counted as that. They’d slept together, then Jonathan had left. What about that had made it different than any of the others? 

Edward would rather die than admit to anyone, Batman especially, that he’d been wrong. This heist had been thoughtless, and now there was no escape. Edward didn’t have to say anything, but he did not put up a fight, and his acquiescence told Batman enough. Without looking at Batman, Edward lifted up an arm to allow himself to be led through the museum and to the back of the Batmobile. No handcuffs required. 

Back to Arkham it was, then. 

This had really been his worst plan of all time. How  _ embarrassing!  _

At the very least, some time in the asylum might take his mind off things. 

_____________________________________________________

 

“No, no, please!  _ Please!  _ Oh,  _ God— _ “ 

_ “ _ Hush _ ,  _ child,” said Jonathan. “Tell me what you see.”

_ “Get them OFF me!”  _ The patient screamed. 

“Get  _ what  _ off you?” Jonathan snapped. He was getting frustrated with this new patient. Resilient, yes, but uncooperative. It had taken two syringes full of toxin to even get him to this point. 

“Sp-spiders!” The patient yelled. 

Jonathan sighed. He’d never pass up the opportunity to instill fear in another, but arachnophobia was getting old. 

He had the patient tied down to a chair in the middle of Jervis’s living room. He’d promised not to ruin the rug, so garbage bags were laid out on the ground. Just in case. 

The patient was still whimpering and making other pained sounds. The man gasped as Jonathan grabbed his jaw and lifted his head to look him in the eye. Jonathan reached back to pick up another needle. Perhaps another dosage would make things more interesting. Still holding the man by the head, Jonathan inserted the needle into the man’s neck, and observed that he almost instantaneously began to shake. 

“What are you seeing now? Tell me,” Jonathan demanded. 

“I-- I--,” he choked, and the man’s eyes fluttered shut.

Jonathan sighed, but set the now empty needle down and grabbed his notebook. He checked the man’s pulse. Nothing. Two doses had not been enough, but three had been too many. Every patient was different, which had its pros and cons. Jonathan wrote down the results and walked over to switch on the TV that Jervis had sitting in the corner. Sometimes he just liked to have it playing in the background as he finished his work.

As Jonathan wrote, he occasionally looked up to see what was on the news. After several minutes, Jonathan began to realize that the TV was acting as more of a distraction than anything, and stood up to turn it off. However, the next “breaking news” story stopped him from doing so. 

It was Edward, being led out to the Batmobile by the Man himself. Edward was being held by the arm and did not even have handcuffs on. It was known that Edward was one of the most compliant rogues. He’d grumble and moan and could even put up one hell of a fight, but as soon as Batman had a hold of him, he knew when to take the loss. What was different this time, though, was that as far as Jonathan could tell from the shaky camera footage, Edward didn’t have so much as a scratch on him. That meant he hadn’t put up a fight at all. Jonathan decided to listen to the story carefully. 

_ “BREAKING NEWS: After months in dormancy, the Riddler -- also known as Edward Nygma -- was just taken into custody after a botched heist. Authorities say that the Riddler was not even armed. He was apparently working alone in this heist, and came willingly and without a fight once Batman arrived. Thankfully, no one was harmed and the museum put out a statement saying that they suffered minimal damages, that they are currently restoring the painting that the Riddler had set out to steal and that they hope to return it back to its rightful place in the exhibit very soon. Hopefully, the Riddler will be back in Arkham for quite a long while and will stay out of Gotham’s hair. More on this after--”  _

How could Edward have been so reckless? If Edward had anything worthy to brag about, it would certainly be the elaborateness of his crimes. To walk into a museum with the attempt to steal something but having no plan was thoughtless, especially for Edward. 

Jonathan worried that something was very wrong. 

Jervis came home about that time. He walked through the door to see the dead man still sitting in the middle of the living room, but simply stepped around it to stand next to Jonathan, who was sitting on the couch. Jervis watched just as the news story on the Riddler was ending, then looked back to Jonathan. 

“March Hare, are you alright? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost!” 

Was he alright? Jonathan wasn’t sure. He should’ve been. And so he said as much. 

“Yes, Jervis. I’m fine,” Jonathan stood up. “Will you help me get rid of this man? Is it just me, or is dead weight heavier to carry than a live one?” 

Jervis looked at him, concerned. “Are you worried about Dormouse? I thought you and him didn’t get along?”

“We don’t. It’s not about him, Jervis. Please let it go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had the whole week off, so I was like "Oh my god, I can get so much fic writing done! I could do multiple chapters and maybe even a few drabbles on the side!"  
> Yeah, that's not what happened. I've very much been in a writing slump. Or just a general slump. It's miraculous how you can get less done even when you have /more/ time on your hands. 
> 
> Also, I skimmed through the past chapters and noticed that I was being kinda mean to Jervis. So this was Jon being nicer as my little apology to Jervis.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Small Scrap](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17649908) by [cilliance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cilliance/pseuds/cilliance)




End file.
